


The Windmines of Bora Bora

by Osiris_Brackhaus (Rynthjan)



Series: Sir Yaden [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Despair, Off-screen Rape, Psychics, Slavery, Suicidal Thoughts, Yaiciz, frequent and graphic violence, phoenix empire, previous rape and torture metioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynthjan/pseuds/Osiris_Brackhaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Former Dracon pet Ivan is shipped off to the mines as punishment for a temporarily successful runaway attempt. But there is a lot more than just slaves hiding in the Windmines of Bora Bora...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the Year 5038 of the Phoenix Empire Timeline

“It is over there, your Highness, the rundown freighter. They should start loading the slaves any moment now.”

Her face an unreadable mask of noble superiority, Princess Anita Dracon looked across the landing field to where her aide had pointed.  
It usually wasn’t her style to appear anywhere near the industrial spaceports of Yaiciz, her home world. But she was here to see a very special passenger off, special enough to warrant her appearance in a dismal place such as the roof of the warehouse building she was currently standing on.

“I like the setup you have chosen,” Anita stated coolly. “Close enough that he is bound to see me, and yet just far away so he has no hope of reaching me.”

“Your pleasure honors me beyond words, your Highness.”

Instead of an answer, she only looked at the man, merely raising a disdainful eyebrow. At barely seventeen years of age, Princess Anita had already mastered the art of the wordless put-down. Next to her, the aide seemed to shrink and shrivel until he bowed deeply and backed away, realizing that his service here was no longer needed nor welcome.

No one stayed around Lady Anita when no longer welcome - everyone left either voluntarily or permanently.

Down on the landing field, only a few hundred yards from her vantage point, a truck stopped next to the indicated freighter. It was carrying a large cage, filled with half-clad slaves packed so tightly they couldn’t even fall down. Within moments, several men walked out of the freighter, whips and frapsticks ready, and started to unload the mostly human cargo.

Trying to get a better view and at the same time hoping to make herself more visible, Anita walked up to the ledge of the roof. Her back ramrod straight, her long black hair flowing in the wind behind her, she was an unmistakably Dracon beauty. And even if her glistening black leathers hadn’t given that away already, the pale, naked pet she was pulling on a leash behind her would have.

“Don’t you dare telling me you’re afraid of heights,” she hissed at the young woman who had followed her on all fours when she hesitated a few feet away from the ledge. Standing right at the edge, with her toes already in the open air, it was obvious Anita didn’t share such sentimentalities as fear of heights.

“There’s nothing for you to fear anywhere,” she continued, cold as the night. “Nothing to fear but me.”

Anita yanked at the chain, just a tiny, imperious gesture, but the slave meekly crawled up right next to her.

“Good girl,” Anita purred, patting the slave girl on her head.

For a moment, the princess stood motionless in the cool breeze, the naked pet kneeling wordlessly next to her. She was sure she presented a formidable image to the poor sods that were currently loaded into the freighter down below. Beautiful, powerful, and utterly untouchable by their petty little lives.

“Oh look,” Anita said as her special passenger finally came into view. “See that slave down there? The tall one, with the sides of his head shaved as if he were a warrior of some sort? The one with that thick black collar?”

The slave girl needed a moment to understand that she was actually expected to look. Then, frightened, she stared at the prisoners down below until she spotted the one her mistress had been talking about. Wordlessly, she nodded, eagerly waiting for more explanations.

“That waste of genetic material is my alleged brother Ivan.” Anita explained smugly. “I sold him. As a pet. Just like you.”

The eager expression in her pet’s face congealed to barely veiled fear, causing Anita to break into loud laughter.

“Goodness, you’re so sweet when you’re afraid of me.” Not too gently, she patted her slave again, then she turned her attention back to the people on the landing field. “Of course, he was was a failure as a noble, and he continued being a failure as a slave. So dear Vanya was a miserable pet for a while, then he became a boring pet for a while, and then he had the silly idea to run away.”

Smiling in reminiscence, Lady Anita looked so inhuman in her cruel beauty that her pet involuntarily inched away from her.

“But instead of properly disappearing, he joined a band of misfits in the slums, trying to make a living as some kind of gang leader, little Vanya, can you imagine? Hilarious.” Anita’s breathing was calm and concentrated now, as if her monologue was merely happening on the surface of the machinations of her mind. “Of course, it wasn’t long before he was caught again. And what do we do with slaves too incompetent and to insolent to keep around? We send them to the mines...”

At the mention of the mines, the slave girl flinched. Stealing a glance, she looked up to the sky, where the only moon of Yaiciz was clearly visible. Bora Bora, the moon, was staring back at her with an evil eye glare, the giant microwave emitter placed on the moon’s equator glowing ominously red.

The girl had no idea why there were mines on Bora Bora, or what the hell you could mine wind for, but she knew that it was a place where slaves were sent to, never to return. In her limited world, it was the only place worse than her current life.

Right then, Princess Anita decided that she had had enough of gloating. Silently, she raised a slender hand, as if blowing a kiss to the slaves being loaded into the freighter. All of a sudden, the air around her glimmered with heat, tiny flames of unearthly colors dancing along her windswept hair that seemed to curl upward in the sudden shift of currents. Little glowing embers sparked into life in the air, drifting down onto the landing field, scorching the tarmac and the bare shoulders of the slave she had identified as her brother.

Instantly, Ivan snapped around and stared up to the roof where Anita was standing, waving in perfect, effortless elegance. His bellowing scream of anger and pain was loud enough to reach the two women on the roof.

Anita chuckled, a sound that made the slave girl think her blood was curdling.

Then Ivan started struggling, trying to break free from the line of condemned slaves and reaching the warehouse his sister was standing on. He even managed to knock out a guard despite his hands being tied behind his back, and started to run towards them.

He managed about twenty meters before one of the guards shot him down with a stunner, and he slammed onto the dirty tarmac like a dropped sack of grains.

Up on the roof, Lady Anita still chuckled with almost childlike glee.

“Wonderful,” she finally exclaimed with a little sigh, “Every time he tries to fight, and every time he fails. Just perfect. Such a shame this was the last time we will be seeing him.”

Silently, she watched some guards packing up Ivan from the ground and dragging him into the freighter. There was even a hint of nostalgia in her eyes as the freighter lifted off the ground, belching smoke, and took off in the general direction of Bora Bora.

“So that’s it, another book closed forever,” Lady Anita exclaimed purposefully once the freighter was gone for good. “Now, what’s next on my schedule...?”

Making a show of wondering what next to do, Lady Anita looked around until her gaze finally settled on the slave girl at her feet.

“Of course!” she exclaimed with hardly credible surprise, “Target practice!”

The slave girl at her feet looked at her with eyes wide with fear, her mouth working soundlessly.

“Oh, darling, don’t be afraid,” Anita said gently and started walking towards the staircase, effortlessly dragging the struggling girl behind her. “You were so well behaved today. I’ll give you a nice head-start. And if you survive, I might even give you a shield next time.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was the relentless noise of the engines that forced Ivan back to consciousness.

At first, he tried to stay in that blissful state a little longer, but little by little, reality forced its way back into his mind. Soon enough, he had to move into a different position where he didn’t get a new bruise from every lurch and jump of the freighter he was in. Instantly, he regretted the decision, as all his muscles screamed in pain, having been forced to remain motionless after he had been shot down with a stunner. Cursed be his gloating sister!

Another heavy lurch of the freighter made Ivan wince, mostly because another prisoner next to him toppled over and fell on Ivan’s cautiously stretched leg. Trying to get away from the other man in the half-dark of the cargo bay, Ivan slipped to the other side, only to find himself sitting in a puddle of something probably too disgusting and organic to warrant any further investigation.

With a low curse, he pushed himself up, against the corrugated steel wall, noticing with another muttered curse that their cell wasn’t even high enough for him to stand up straight. Then again, nobody expected a cheap freighter bringing freshly convicted slaves to the mines of Bora Bora to be comfortable.

The only light in the cargo bay came from a tiny emergency bulb above one of the doors. In the dull red glow, Ivan could make out the huddled shapes of about two dozen men in the same cage with him. More, similar cages were stacked next to and on top of the one he was in, easily one hundred new slaves for the mines.

The air was stale and damp, full with the stench of unwashed men and human excrements. Probably, the crew had switched off the life support for the cargo bay, Ivan mused. The trip to Bora shouldn’t take more than a few hours, and no one really would complain about a few dead slaves. Offering fresh air to condemned slaves would just have narrowed the profits on an already meager trip.

All of a sudden, searingly bright light filled the cargo bay, inciting howls of outrage and pain from the prisoners. Blinking through tearing eyes, Ivan realized that the cargo bay had long, narrow windows after all, and that they had just entered the day side of Yaiciz moon, the unfiltered sunlight blinding after the long darkness.

Slowly, his eyes got used to the light again, and the shapeless creatures sharing his prison turned into people. Men of every age, all of them slaves, ragged and dirty, hunched over with the dead look in their eyes of men who had abandoned all hope. Many were wounded, cuts and bruises only cared for in the cheapest way possible, so they wouldn’t bleed on the floor.

Grimacing at the sight, Ivan wished for the darkness to return.

But the sunlight kept gleaming into the freighter, casting long, slanted rays through the bars of the stacked cages. Searching for anything to look at that did not fill him with repulsion, Ivan found himself staring at an especially dirty prisoner on the other side of his cage in disgusted fascination. Wearing nothing but a soiled, mud-crusted tunic, his hair and beard an indistinguishable thicket of filthy hair, the guy looked less like a prisoner but more like some homeless drunkard tramp. The guy even smelled bad enough to stand out in a cell full of unwashed slaves.  
Only when the tramp cracked a smile of bright yellow teeth, Ivan managed to look away. He couldn’t say for sure, but he had the vague suspicion that the tramp had also winked at him seductively. That, really, was a new low even for Ivan’s pretty miserable standards.

With a deep, resigned sigh, Ivan instead tried to focus on what little he could see of the moon’s surface through the window behind him. It was only a narrow strip of plastcrete glass, covered with orange grime and soot, but then again, Bora Bora wasn’t exactly the most interesting place to look at.

The moon’s surface was nothing but endless, rocky hills and dunes of gravel, orange sand filling the valleys like water. Every now and then, a giant wind funnel broke the monotonous rock desert, each one looking like a battered iron shell washed up on a giant’s beach.

Originally, Bora Bora had been a dead rock like almost every other moon, without atmosphere, water or any trace of life. But when Yaiciz became too crowded and too dirty, the moon was picked out as possible refuge for the rich and powerful, the ultimate gated community. The moon was rechristened after a legendary island on Earth, and an unprecedented terraforming effort was launched.

But that had been before the Fall, and the project was never finished.

At least, that was the official version.

Ivan knew that the project had long been abandoned before the collapse of human civilization, mostly because of cost explosions. The scientists and engineers had managed the incredible feat of increasing Bora Bora’s gravity to almost the level of Yaiciz and adding a stable, breathable atmosphere, all this while keeping the overall gravitational mechanics of the system unchanged.  
But the project had run into prohibitive costs when they tried to implement any kind of ecosystem that would turn Bora Bora from theoretically inhabitable to hospitable. Frequent, heavy storms wrecked the surface, any imported water disappeared into the cracks and caverns of the crust, never producing any mentionable humidity.

But the people of Yaiciz were industrious, if nothing else. When after the Fall, humanity emerged again and started looking for new ways to make profits, it didn’t take long for the first enterprising spirit to realize Bora Bora’s real, untapped potential: energy.

The constant storms that rendered the moon’s surface basically uninhabitable were pure energy, free to be harvested by anyone who could tame them. It took several decades and many flamboyantly failed attempts, but in the end a system evolved that was both simple enough to withstand the harsh environment and effective enough to be profitable.

Giant wind-catchers were erected strategically all over the moon’s surface, acting as funnels that led parts of the storm down into the ubiquitous caves. Subterranean trough pits collected all the gravel and sand the storms carried with them, until the air was clean enough to be ejected through massive turbines. The energy generated was then led towards the equator, where a huge microwave array sent the energy down to Yaiciz. As Bora Bora was in rotational lock with it’s planet, this was a fairly simple and reliable process, and there had been only very few incidents of scorched neighborhoods on Yaiciz.

Ivan grimaced at the thought. Sure, the cheap energy from Bora Bora had paved the way to make Yaiciz the industrial powerhouse of the Empire. But it only came cheap in terms of money, not in terms of human lives.

For even as sturdy and reliable as the engines on Bora Bora were designed, there was one problem that could only be resolved by hard slave labor.

All the storms invariably carried dirt and rocks with them, the stronger ones even hurled boulders the size of small cars around. So the wind-catchers all sported massive grids to keep out the worst of the rubble that would threaten to clog the tunnels. Naturally, whatever size of grid you chose, there would always be a number of rocks just the right size to get wedged in, reducing the airflow and in consequence the profitability of the plant. Mechanical cleaning solutions were nice, but breaking down much too fast in the constant assault of dust and sand. Energy shields were prohibitively expensive, and that only left one solution.  
Every time the storms calmed down sufficiently, crews of slaves were sent out to the wind-catchers, cleaning the grids with sledgehammers and their bare hands. It was hard, unskilled work in an unforgiving environment, with living conditions dictated only by cost efficiency. Life expectancy was less than a year for most slaves on Bora.

The fact that Bora Bora was a moon, with a surface that made survival almost impossible, made it almost impossible to escape, on top of everything else. Always eager to make yet another credit, the owners of the power plants were quick to catch on and offered to take in those slaves too useless or unruly to be kept around - turning Bora Bora into the biggest hard labor prison camp of humanity over the years.

In a way, Ivan wondered, it was kind of an accolade, being sent to the mines, now. After all, it still beat being a Dracon pet by miles. It was a definite step down from his life as gang leader in the slums of Yaiciz, though. But then again, he wasn’t too picky.

Of course, he couldn’t entirely ignore the nagging feeling of hopelessness that gathered in his stomach. Nobody ever returned from the mines. And as much as Ivan told himself he didn’t mind hard work, he shuddered at the thought of hauling rocks for the rest of his life.

But he didn’t want to give in to despair. He never had, not when his godforsaken sister had sold him like a cheap slave. Not when he had been the laughing stock for his relatives, raped and beaten and displayed as a novelty item on countless occasions. If anything at all, it had turned him all the more determined.

He had been a boy when he was sold, eager to please and so worried about failing. But that boy was long gone. Only, Ivan wasn’t too sure what was in his place these days.

A sudden shift in the incessant hum of the freighter told him that they were entering Bora Bora’s atmosphere. Other prisoners also noticed the change, and a wave of chatter branded through the dimly lit cargo hold.

Looking out of his window, Ivan once again wondered if this was a new low point in his life or actually an improvement. Up here on Bora Bora, life would be hard, but simple, and probably short. In a way, it felt like a relief to him after the years of fear and loathing that he had spent on Yaiciz. But he doubted it would be enough.

Outside, craggy orange rock formations rushed by, bizarre shapes cut out of the ground by the storms, obscured by roiling clouds of orange dust.

Soon, the freighter slowed down to land, and a strange, popping and pinging noise became audible. It took Ivan a moment to realize it was a hail of pebbles that peppered the ship’s outer shell now that the shields were down.

It was a sound he’d better get used to, now. He would hear it for the rest of his life in one way or another.

Welcome to Bora Bora.


	3. Chapter 3

“Out with you! You’ve slept long enough!” the handler yelled at the slaves. “Move, you lazy dogs!”

Sluggishly, Ivan blinked at the sudden light. His head throbbed with the dull ache of thirst and insufficient air, his limbs ached from having dozed off in an awkward position on the ground of his cage.

“I said MOVE!”, the overseer yelled again, cracking a whip. “Next storm’s just around the corner. See if you can survive out here when they’ve closed the gates on you! Now MOVE!”

Forcing himself up onto his feet, Ivan used the bars of his cage to hold himself upright. The main hatch of the cargo hold had been opened, and harsh, glaring sunlight filled the room. All around in the cages, the slaves were getting up, trying to keep the pace their handlers demanded.

Judging by the sunlight, several hours must have passed since the freighter had landed. As there was no way one could cross the landing field during a storm, the crew had just shut down all the engines and just waited for the storm to subside. Soon enough, the temperature in the cargo hold had risen uncomfortably, and the air had gotten thinner and staler by the minute. Even despite the relentless noise of the pebbles raining down on their ship, it hadn’t taken Ivan long to doze off.

Now the main hatch had been opened, and fresh air came flooding inside, tasting of rust and so dry that it felt like breathing sanding paper. Several convicts were coughing violently, but the handlers didn’t seem to care at all. Probably, they wanted to see their cargo unloaded as quickly as possible so they would be back home on Yaiciz in time for dinner.

Soon enough, Ivan’s cage was opened and he and his fellow slaves were let outside. Even though they all tried to be as orderly as possible, their handler distributed a good amount of shoves and whacks, probably just for good measure so they wouldn’t give the impression of any kind of preferential treatment.

Stepping outside the ship, Ivan didn’t have much time to take in his surroundings. The only thing he could see were small snowdrifts of pebbles on the landing field all around them, each one with a long, flat dune of sand and dust trailing. Right ahead of them, a sheer cliff rose from the ground, orange rock like everything else on Bora Bora, with deep horizontal furrows polished to an soft silken sheen by the storms. To his left, he could spot the giant half-dome of a wind funnel rising from between the rocks, but then he was already led into the dark entrance of a tunnel that led further into the cliff ahead of them.

Already few steps into the mountain, the air changed significantly. Still everything tasted of rust, but the air was much more humid, and the temperatures were almost bearable. They were herded down a long corridor roughly hewn into the stone until they came to a stop in some kind of chain link pen in the middle of a larger cavern.

After the constant noise of the flight and the rain of pebbles, it was eerily quiet, the only sound was the buzz from a broken neon light high above them.

Even the chatter and shuffling of the convict slaves subsided after a while. Quietly, they were standing in their pen, some looking around, some stretching, others staring blankly at the rocks. One even produced a dirty set of dice from his pockets and offered a friendly game of knucklebones to those standing around him.

Ivan just tried to stay unnoticed and instead used the time to take a closer look at their guards. The freighter crew had disappeared along the way down the tunnel, and now they were guarded by members of the Bora Bora Mining & Engineering Guild, the BoBo MEGs. Their dark red uniforms were padded with armor and looked like they could withstand quite some abuse. But the dress-code here seemed to be lax; most guards had their jackets open and didn’t wear their helmets. Also, most of them had the nooks and folds of their armor caked with the ubiquitous bright orange dust. Their weapons, though, all heavy shotgun stunners, were uniformly clean and in perfect condition. Not a good sign, in Ivan’s eyes.

Soon, two guards opened a narrow gate on the other side of the slaves’ pen and started herding them out one by one, another guard nearby obviously taking stock on a clipboard. Counting them into groups of a dozen each, they were then herded along even more tunnels, deeper down into the moon’s crust. Four guards accompanied them to the next destination, each one with a stunner gun and a foul mood.

At one point, they reached something like an underground road, a broad tunnel large enough for a proper truck to fit inside. But judging by the guards muttered comments, the actual truck was currently broken down, and they had to make the trek to their destination on foot. The guards weren’t happy about it.

Not that Ivan cared either way. It was nice to be walking for a while, a welcome change after he had been locked up in various cells for the better part of the last month. Though he could really use some water, his throat felt parched.

For about an hour, they walked through the tunnel, passing alternating stretches of brightly lit road and murky darkness where the lights had broken down. Everything down here was barely functioning, but it seemed to be rooted in stinginess rather than neglect. Those parts that were working looked well maintained and not likely to break down anytime soon.

Several times during their walk, Ivan found himself assaulted by a vile, rotting stench. And each time when he looked around, he found the wild-haired tramp from the shuttle walking next to him, his yellow teeth smiling inside the shapeless tangle of hair that covered most of his face. Ivan knew that making friends was an important thing as a slave, but he really could have done with someone just a little less repulsive.

So he tried to put a little distance between himself and Smelly, as he called him silently. But it didn’t work, not for long anyway. So when they were herded through another gate into what seemed like their current destination, Smelly was walking right next to Ivan.

Their destination turned out to be another cave, little surprise at that.

Even before the gate was closed behind them, other slaves emerged from the tunnels that branched off the main cave. Dirty, emaciated figures, all of them dusted orange, all of them eying the newcomers with suspicion and calculation. They moved with the slightly haunched gait of people insecure whether to attack or to run, their eyes darting from left to right like haunted. They looked feral.

For a long moment, the newcomers were eyed with wary suspicion. But soon enough, the mood changed, and one by one, the newly arrived prisoners broke eye contact with the established inmates, slinking away to the sides. They just weren’t up to a fight with these men, not after the flight and the imprisonment and the beatings that preceded them. They rather accepted a place at the bottom end of the pecking order here than risking a broken neck on their first day here.

Still standing where the guards had left him, Ivan felt bitter bile rise in his throat. Yes, it would be smart to avoid a fight. He wasn’t fit, he didn’t have any allies, and he didn’t have any clue what he could possibly gain by picking the first fight that came along. And yet he couldn’t make himself bow down and play meek, not for the life of him.

Instead, he felt his face twist with deep repulsion, with disgust at the whole affair, at all this unnecessary violence, this absurd struggle of humans to assert their superiority over each other. He hated it with a passion, he hated other humans that couldn’t work together even under these circumstances, and he hated that he didn’t see any other way out of this than being even more violent than them.

Already, some of the residents were homing in on Ivan, his stance clearly showing that he was not going to be one of the meek ones who would try and fit into the local power structure. No, Ivan was standing there like some angry young man.

“Hey, you! Newcomer!” one of the residents shouted in Ivan’s direction, his voice as gravelly and raspy as the wind on the surface of Bora Bora. “Get over there. Fresh ones sleep next to the loo.”

Calmly, Ivan watched the man approach him. He was maybe in his thirties, not a young man for Bora Bora. His hair was cropped close to his head, just a fringe of gray and orange stubble around the sides and back of his head. His face had deep lines carved by too much sunlight, and his gray eyes, small and sunburned as they were, had the alertness of a hunter. He moved with confidence born in experience. Not an opponent to be taken lightly.

“What you’re still staring at?” the man asked, his body language clearly signaling a warning. “Get out of my yard!”

“No.”

The simple rejection was an unmistakable challenge. Within a mere moment, all remaining newcomers had cleared a wide swath around Ivan, cautious not to get involved in any of his antics.

“Maybe I haven’t made my point clear,” the man added with a cold smile. “I am Madrigal, and people here do as I say.”

“And what if not?”

With grim amusement, Ivan noticed Madrigal’s face twitch with anger. Ivan’s voice was well trained, despite everything, and he had made sure that his last challenge had been clearly heard all over the main cave. Neither of them could back down now without losing face.

“If not, they stop being people.” Madrigal replied icily. With nothing more than a small gesture of his hand, he called two more of the resident slaves to his side, each one easily a head taller than Ivan.

But Ivan didn’t really feel threatened. Those men might be heavier and taller than him and have him outnumbered severely. But he knew he had an advantage probably no one here could match. He had been a Dracon pet. For almost a year, he had served his relatives as pastime, as a canvas for their perverted arts. And he had survived. Pain held no threat for him any longer. He could be beaten down, yes. He could be hurt. But he would just stand up again where almost any other human would just pass out.

Ivan felt his face split with a wide, cocky grin that revealed a single canine. In a smooth motion that came to him without thinking, he slid into the basic fighting stance of Ga’Un, the dirty fighting style of the Youh’Kai. Low and wide, it wasn’t necessarily the most effective style against multiple opponents, but it sure was looking damn impressive.

“Really? I’d so like to see you try...”

With another flick of his wrist, Madrigal ordered his two goons to attack, and so they did.

Rushing straight at Ivan, they were almost laughably easy to evade. Ivan waited just long enough so they thought they already had him wedged in between them, then used a low somersault to get out between them and right in front of Madrigal’s feet. Flipping right back on his feet, Ivan tried a high spinning kick at Madrigal’s chin that could have broken the man’s neck. But Madrigal had reflexes like a ferret and managed to pull away, if only by a mere hair’s width.

Ivan’s grin grew even wider. At least, it would be an interesting fight.

Immediately, the two goons were behind him, trying to put him down with kicks and punches. Some of them Ivan could dodge, some others, he couldn’t. But he was tough, he could take more than anyone he knew. Sure, he was half-starved, tired, and groggy from the flight, but still he was a trained fighter where the slaves here on Bora Bora were just wild animals that fought for survival.

Soon, he had the first goon down with a neat uppercut, the massive slave crumbling to the ground like a sack full of rocks.

But the other one was still standing, slowly realizing that this wouldn’t be a simple fight, after all. Madrigal had swiftly realized that this newcomer meant trouble, and instead of joining the fight, he ordered more of his followers to beat down this insolent slave and make it a clear sign to all the other that had arrived with him.

So Ivan was now fighting a whole gang of slaves, each one strong and sinewy from the hard labor, each one mean as a street dog. Some of them had even rebars or other makeshift clubs, but they had not anticipated that they were playing right into Ivan’s hands.

After all, he had primarily been trained to fight with weapons, not with his bare hands.

Grabbing one of the steel bars a ganger was brandishing, Ivan used his opponent’s momentum to slip behind him and wrestle the bar out of his hands, smiling at the pain filled yelp the other slave gave him. Now armed, Ivan swiftly acquired a second club, ferociously grinning at his remaining attackers. A Ga’Un fighting stance looked positively dangerous if armed.

The gangers hesitated, insecure about what to do with an opponent who obviously knew how to fight. But Madrigal had no such qualms.

“Get done with it!” he hissed from the rear. “Snuff him.”

Again, his goons attacked, this time even with something resembling a strategy. While the strongest of them just tried to land hits with their hands or their clubs, the more agile one now tried to make Ivan trip, lose his weapons or hinder him in some way possible.

It was a messy fight. Ivan tried not to outright kill anyone, but couldn’t help bash in the face of an especially clumsy ganger who couldn’t get his head out of the way in time. The others, he just broke their ribs with a well-placed blow, or their toes, which rendered them practically unable to fight. Like a cornered cat, he fought, furious and without hesitation, trying to use the rough terrain as much to his advantage as possible. The gangers, on the other hand, were struggling with the terrain, and it seemed they were slipping on the loose gravel as often as not.

He managed to get all of his opponents down up to the last three. But then, one of them managed to slip a rope around Ivan’s wrist from behind. Together with Madrigal, he yanked Ivan off his feet, and instantly one of the remaining fighters hurled himself on top of him, pushing the air out of his lungs. Instead of the howl of frustration that Ivan wanted to give, only a weird, rasping wail came out of him.

It only took seconds for the remaining gangers to disarm Ivan and pin him to the ground. He was still struggling, but exhausted as he was, he had no chance against them.

“Damn, you son of a whore!” Madrigal spat caustically, now weighing a rebar in his hands himself. “Couldn’t go down without taking a few of my men with you, huh?” While the gangers all looked shaken at the unexpected loss of some of their friends, Madrigal only looked angry and calculating. “Wish I had the time to kill you properly, you bastard. But I am afraid just have to -”

Abruptly, Madrigal stopped. His eyes turned upward until one could see the bloodshot white. Then he crumbled sideways, revealing the hunched shape of Smelly behind him. In his hands, the filthy slave was holding a fist-sized orange rock just like the one he had just thrown and knocked out Madrigal with.

“What the fuck -” one of Madrigal’s fighters shouted, but Ivan didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. With the slaves holding him down distracted, he managed to wrestle himself out of their hold. With a few swift steps, he rushed past Madrigal, picking up his rebar and giving him a juicy kick in the kidneys in passing.

Instinctively, he placed himself back to back with Smelly, but winced when the unrelenting stench of his only ally hit his nose. If even possible, it seemed he smelled worse up close, and in the short time they were here on Bora Bora had already managed to cover himself neatly in a layer of orange grime.

For a heartbeat, Ivan just stared at Madrigal’s minions over his unconscious body between them. Then, one of them sneaked forward, hands raised defensively, trying to reach Madrigal and pull him out of the fight.

Ivan allowed him to save his master, though he had to allow himself a snarl and a sudden lurch forward that made the other slave jump like a startled animal. But he knew he was too exhausted to win another fight, and he should count himself lucky that he was still alive.

“This isn’t over!” one of the gangers hissed at Ivan, but he couldn’t have cared less.

It was over, at least for now. With their master down, the remaining gangers were not so eager to wade into another fight, most of them already retreating further back into the smaller caves they had their pallets in.

Taking a deep, relieved breath and almost gagging, Ivan remembered that he wasn’t alone.

“Really?” he asked Smelly, sounding harsher than he had intended to. “Why the hell did you help me? I can’t protect you or anything, you realize? I won’t help you if you get in trouble, I have enough problems of my own.”

But his newfound friend and ally just shrugged wordlessly, the filthy hair covering his face crunching in a way that probably meant he was smiling underneath.

“What? You mute or something?”

Instead of an answer, Smelly just pulled up his dirt-crusted tunic to scratch his naked ass, revealing much more in the process than Ivan had ever wanted to see.

“Oh, good heavens!” Ivan exclaimed, trying very hard to forget the unpleasant sight. “For God’s sake, cover yourself.”

This time, Smelly chuckled audibly. Turning around, he gestured Ivan to follow him, apparently having used the time Ivan had been busy getting into trouble to find a spot that was at least half-way safe.

Without any better option, Ivan gave a long sigh, tugged the rebar into the belt of his tunic and followed him deeper into the caves of Bora Bora.

“But you get to sleep downwind, is that clear?”


	4. Chapter 4

As much as he tried to, Ivan could not ignore the woman’s hand slowly tracing upwards along the inside of his thigh. The touch was pleasant, at least for now, but he knew it wouldn’t last. Soon enough, his pleasure would turn into pain, and his pain into her pleasure. 

She was Dracon, after all. 

Laughter, mixed with soft music and the unmistakable tinkle of ice cubes in tall glasses came into focus. It was a beautiful party, just a small, familiar affair, not even a hundred guests attending. Just the Lord of the Manor, his immediate family and a few close friends enjoying a nice meal together, maybe some drinks, and maybe maim a few helpless slaves. Nothing fancy, after all it was merely an afternoon affair. 

Ivan couldn’t remember the reason for the party for the life of him. And it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He was chained to a massive steel frame by his wrists and ankles, propped up between two tables of the buffet, offered to the guests like just another meatball or piece of truffled Malicorne bacon. 

So far, the food seemed to be more interesting than him. Some guests had been amused at seeing a former Dracon being chained up and offered as a party favor, but most had just ignored him. 

Only now, a middle-aged woman with severe features and a black, high-collared patent leather outfit seemed to be considering him as next course. Her steel-gray hair was tightly wrangled into a mirthless up-do, and her left eye showed the fine, glowing red lines of a cybernetic reticle over her natural iris. 

She kept her eyes on him in an unmoving, reptile stare, while her gloved hand wandered further upwards. Along his leg, past his balls, up the side of his belly, his chest, his throat, until she came to rest at the small indention at his collarbone. 

Even though Ivan tried not to look, he knew she was smiling now, just a tiny, cruel twitch in the corner of her mouth, nothing more. Her finger at his collarbone tapped twice, lightly, and instantly Ivan felt something pierce his skin. A needle, maybe, or a fine blade, extending from her glove, nothing big, but surgically precise. 

Like every other time, Ivan knew that there would be pain, and like every time, he tried to relax, to allow the pain to wash over him, to offer no resistance. Pain was a signal of his physical body, and there was no reason for his mind to suffer as well. It would be enough to acknowledge the pain as such and move on. Theoretically. 

But the noblewoman who was currently using him was an expert – her needle dug deeper, pushed below the muscle that ran up to his neck. Almost gently, she used the needle to twist the muscle aside and reach the nerve that was running underneath. 

Suddenly, all of Ivan’s arm was on fire. As if every single fiber was being ripped apart, the pain shrilled through his brain, wrecking the carefully maintained calm in but an instant. For a long moment, he just prayed for the agony to end, to pass over him, but it didn’t happen. Instead, the Dracon woman gave her needle another twist, just a tiny motion, ripping through the nerve with surgical precision. 

This time, Ivan couldn’t bear it any longer. His mind dissolved into pain, his conscience drowned by the flood of burning agony, until there was nothing left of him that was human. 

And he screamed...

\---

With a jolt, Ivan woke up. 

Glaring sunlight all around him, orange and white, rocks pressing into his back, dull aches of exhaustion in every bone of his body. His throat was parched, his eyes crusted with dust, and yet all he could think of was the pain in his right arm that he knew wasn’t real. 

He had been dreaming again. 

“You okay?” a voice asked, next to him. 

Ivan didn’t have to look to identify the speaker, the smell was more than enough. 

“Yeah.” he replied, inching away from Smelly as if that would help him get out of the miasma his companion was spreading around himself. “I am fine. Just a bad dream.”

Instead of an answer, Smelly just harrumphed disdainfully. It had turned out that Smelly wasn’t mute, nor retarded, he just didn’t speak much. And of course, his personal hygiene was, well, abysmal. Apart from that, Ivan had to admit Smelly wasn’t the worst possible company. 

“Break’s over.” Smelly announced in his soft, slightly mumbling words. “Guards getting restless.”

With a sigh, Ivan nodded and forced himself up onto his feet again. It was his first shift out on the surface, cleaning a windcatcher, and already he had had enough of it. Carefully, he followed Smelly’s hunched figure along the narrow path that led up to the shadowy ledge where he had taken a nap during lunch break. 

Ivan had known pretty exactly what to expect when they had shipped him off to Bora Bora. But knowing and experiencing were two different pairs of shoes entirely. 

Six hours ago, the storm had calmed down, and instantly the guards had appeared in the main cave, herding out the slaves towards an industrial elevator that brought them to the surface. 

That was, which would have brought them to the surface if the exit door hadn’t been blocked by a pile of rocks the size of a man’s head. So the better part of the first hour, they had been busy carrying rocks into the building until they had managed a hole big enough for them to crawl out through. Then they had worked for another two hours to free the entrance sufficiently and carry the first rocks back out again. 

Outside, it was double day currently, with both the sun and Yaiciz’ day side full up in the sky. It was mercilessly hot, but the dust and the complete lack of humidity in the air was far worse. With no precipitation at all on Bora Bora, dust never settled down completely - it was just ground finer and finer, until it had the consistency of flour and pooled at the bottom of ravines in deadly, orange puddles. 

As soon as they had sufficiently secured the entrance to the elevator, they were led up a narrow canyon to the foot of a wind catcher that loomed above the landscape. A metal funnel easily a hundred feet high, it faced west, in the direction of the storm, its surface polished to a matte gleam, the only thing that wasn’t orange as far as the eye could see. The wind-catcher's giant , half-elliptic maw was protected with equally titanic, vertical ceramsteel bars to keep out the worst of the rocks. The first line of rake bars was wide enough for a man to walk through, with the ceramsteel bars looking more like massive columns than anything else. Behind that was a second line just wide enough for a man to squeeze through, and behind that, the bars were set so closely that one could barely fit a hand between them. 

But even the practically impervious ceramsteel was battered and worn, and the force of the storms had wedged in some rocks between the bars. Bigger once at the first line, luckily only a few near the ground, but progressively more and higher up the narrower the rake bars got. 

And it had been their job to get those rocks out again. If necessary, there were recesses in the sides of the bars they could use to climb up and loosen the rocks that were too high to reach from the ground, and they were given rebar to use as lever and meshfibre sacks to carry the gravel. 

If it hadn’t been so deadly serious, Ivan would have laughed about the lack of equipment. But slave labor was the cheapest thing here on Bora Bora, and the guards cared more about a lost piece of rebar than about a slave’s life.   
So they pried the rocks out of the wind-catcher's teeth with their bare hands until their fingers bled, carrying them outside and around the windcatcher so they would fly away to clog another windcatcher with the next storm. 

The slaves were well aware that they were only left alive as long as they were productive, and accordingly took great care not to suffer some kind of heavy accident. Even those unlucky bastards who ripped off a nail or broke a finger didn’t complain, they just worked on as well as they could, hoping the guards wouldn’t notice. Either you were working at peak efficiency here, or you were dead and left outside for the storm to take you away. 

Luckily, the guards understood that their charges needed food and rest eventually, and so after five hours had dispensed a bowl of water and a NutriBar for each. Fights broke out about the water, especially as some slave still hadn’t realized that water here on Bora Bora was strictly rationed and had used their only bowl to douse themselves from head to toe, hoping to get the fine dust out of their eyes at least for a while. 

Unsurprisingly, no fights had broken out about the NutriBars. Made from the cheapest ingredients, those ash-gray bars were perfectly healthy and contained everything a human needed to survive on – except taste, structure or any kind of enjoyment. Submerged in water, they formed a sort of chunky, gray mush after a while, but that was the only culinary option NutriBars offered. They stored indefinitely and were available all over the Empire as emergency rations. Offering them instead of food felt more like an insult than the lack of even the most basic equipment to Ivan. 

At least, he thought, he was one of the lucky few who had proper shoes up here. Most slaves were only wearing simple sandals or makeshift substitutes they had cobbled together from whatever junk they could find. Ivan wondered how Smelly managed without any shoes at all, navigating the rocky slopes with little more effort than Ivan with his solid shoes. 

But that really wasn’t his problem, now. Lunch break was over, and they still had to clean a lot of rubble before the guards would allow them back inside. 

At least, it was getting significantly cooler now that the sun was beginning to sink under the horizon, with Yaiciz above them still reflecting enough light to work by. ‘Half-night’, this combination was called here on Bora Bora, and it was considered one of the luckier ones to work by. 

At least, as far as anything here could be called ‘lucky’. 

Soon enough, Ivan carried bags of rocks and gravel out of the windcatcher, following a narrow path around the giant dome to unload his cargo down a long slope on the wind-catcher's side. Ironically, this was considered one of the better jobs, as the risk to fall or get hurt by falling rocks was relatively small. And no one had insisted that he’d take on another task, like prying rocks out of the rake bars high above the ground which would have been standard newbie duty. But apparently, his show on the very first day against Madrigal had earned him at least enough notoriety to be placed near the top of the local pecking order. 

Every now and then, he noticed Smelly clambering up and down the rake bars, throwing down rocks. His figure looked as if there was a giant dust bunny stuck to the wind-catcher's grill. Not that there had been any doubt that the guy was a few screws short, but Smelly actually seemed to like the dangerous work. Ivan could only shake his head at the folly. 

Instead, he allowed some other slave to fill his bag with even more rocks, and used the momentary break to keep track of the handful of guards that kept an eye on them. 

Not that the guards would actually have to keep any slave here from running away. The next storm was coming rather sooner than later, and there was no way one could survive out here on the surface. And even if one found a decent shelter, there was no open water anywhere on Bora Bora. Given the temperatures on the surface, scalding at day and freezing at night, no one could possibly survive out here for more than a couple of days. Slaves would rather come back to the elevator, begging to be allowed back in than to run away. 

The only way to get out of here was to get off Bora Bora for good, and that meant hitching a ride on one of the shuttles that frequently crossed the oddly dark sky. 

But those shuttles were a lifetime away right now. 

“Hey you, slave!” one of the guards yelled at Ivan. “Stop dreaming! Move!” 

Not in the mood to pick a fight, Ivan sketched a demure bow, put the carrying loop of his bag around his forehead and picked up his pile of rocks. 

No, the guards were not here to keep the slaves from running away. They were only here to make sure they worked hard enough. 

In measured steps, Ivan trudged along the worn path, cautious not to run into another slave returning with an empty bag. One step in front of the other, not thinking about the exhaustion he felt in his bones nor the frustration at the thought that this would be his occupation for the rest of his life. Just one step in front of the other, survive this hour, survive this day. Soon enough, he’d find a way to get out of this. 

Ivan had just reached the ravine at the other side of the windcatcher as he heard swift steps behind him. Much too swift to come from any slave packed with rocks, and much too light for one of the guards. 

Immediately alarmed, Ivan threw off his bag and dropped himself to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he could see that he had just barely evaded a heavy blow from a rebar that the slave behind him was wielding. One of Madrigal’s followers. 

So that rat had decided to get rid of him, Ivan concluded, and he was too much of a coward to finish the job himself. 

The slave behind him took a heartbeat to realize that he had hit nothing but empty air, but was already taking the next swing, aiming at Ivan. Sitting on the ground, Ivan had little options to evade another blow, with the windcatcher almost perpendicularly rising to his left and the ravine falling down steeply right next to him on the other side. So he decided on a direct approach and hurled himself at his attacker, not even for a moment wondering if he could maybe talk the man out of it. No, Ivan was happy about the fight, happy to get to do anything but mindless labor. 

So he slammed into the other slave with the ferocity of a starved wolf, almost throwing him off his feet with his momentum. Ivan managed to get hold of the rebar, too, and for a moment, both men tried to wrestle the weapon out of each other’s hands. 

But then the attacking slave made the mistake and moved his lower arm too close to Ivan’s face. Not even hesitating for a blink, Ivan bit down, hard, until he felt the skin and muscle tear between his teeth and the metallic taste of blood spread on his tongue. 

With a startled yell of pain, the attacker tried to back away from Ivan, but the distraction had been all Ivan had been waiting for. Still biting down relentlessly, he finally managed to wrest the rebar out of the other slave’s hands. 

Now Ivan let the poor man go, and hit him smack across the temple with his newly acquired weapon. The other slave didn’t even have a chance to scream. 

With a nothing more than a grunt, the slave toppled over and down the ravine, flailing his limps lifeless like those of a rag doll. Ivan watched him with cautiously until he came to rest at the bottom, dusty and broken and already hard to distinguish from all the other stones down there. 

As after a few moment, the man didn’t move at all, Ivan shrugged and relaxed. It wasn’t the first man he had killed, and it sure as hell wouldn’t have been the last one. But even if it had been nothing but a stupid slave, all Ivan felt was bitter emptiness. It was such a pointless waste. 

What had this combat achieved? Probably nothing. Just another corpse desiccating on the surface of Bora Bora. 

Calmly, Ivan wedged the rebar into the belt of his tunic and returned to his bag of rocks. He pulled the bag to where the other slave had fallen over the edge and poured the rocks down the ravine. They clattered and bounced, like every time, covering the corpse with even more dust. Already, the body’s outline was obscured enough to make it hard to distinguish from the distance. Not as if anybody would come looking, anyway. 

Taking a deep breath, Ivan pulled himself away from the ravine and returned to the path that led back around the windcatcher. The empty bag in his hands felt heavy and unwieldy. 

Would this be the rest of his life? Working mindlessly in this desert, happy about the rare occasion where he could kill someone? Fighting his fellow inmates like rats in a barrel? What a waste. What an unspeakable waste. 

Ivan noticed the massive figure blocking the path only in the last moment. It was another of Madrigal’s goons, but this time he had his back turned to Ivan. Apparently, they had been sure one attacker would be more than enough, and had only placed one guard to make sure the other slaves didn’t get involved. 

Finally, the slave in front of him noticed Ivan and turned around. The grim smile in the slave’s face wavered for a moment as he recognized Ivan, and then turned into barely veiled horror. 

It took Ivan a heartbeat to understand why the other slave was so scared, but then he remembered he hadn’t cleaned his face after he had killed his attacker. Probably, his mouth was still smeared with blood, making him a wild figure indeed together with the dirt and the sweat that streaked his face. 

Almost against himself, Ivan felt his face split into a wide grin that revealed his red-stained teeth. 

The slave blocking the path turned ashen and stepped aside, his hands raised in a pacifying gesture. 

Well, Ivan thought by himself as he passed the shocked slave, at least one good thing will come out of this episode. The next days would turn interesting indeed. And if he didn’t come out on top after all of it, he’d die a swift death at least. Let them think him a crazy killer. 

Anything would be better than being buried alive under a ton of hopelessness.


	5. Chapter 5

“So what do you say, Smelly?” Ivan asked, softly enough only his companion could overhear. “You come with me or not? Last chance.”

But Smelly only shook his head, sliding back a little further along the rock he was hiding behind. 

“Are you sure? Might be the last chance for you to get off this rock.” 

Again, Smelly shook his head, looking kind of sad. 

“Well then,” Ivan sighed, “Good luck to you, too.”

It felt oddly unsatisfying to Ivan to leave Smelly behind. Not that that they had talked enough to become friends in the three weeks that had passed since they arrived here on Bora Bora. But Ivan had become attached to that filthy wreck of a human, who always seemed to be around and kept insisting on helping him. 

Madrigal had finally learned not to make too much of a fuss concerning the new slave and left him in relative peace. After all, he was a sensible man and didn’t want to sent more of his minions into their demise. Ivan knew that it was only a matter of time until that madman would try something new. But he had no intention of waiting until someone else made the next move. 

Somehow, taking Smelly with him on his escape should have been Ivan’s way of saying thank you. 

And now that retarded fool just didn’t want to come with him. 

But Ivan couldn’t wait for Smelly to understand that nothing could go wrong. He was sure he had figured out a way that would get him off this blasted moon, but it had to be now. No one could say how long the good weather here would last, and then probably the guards would have changed their schedules again. 

Casting a final look over his shoulder, Ivan nodded to Smelly as a last goodbye. Then he turned to the task ahead, looking at the craggy landscape ahead of him and the little landing field at the horizon. 

Ivan remembered well that there had been a windcatcher visible from the landing field, and it hadn’t been too hard to make sure he was on the crew predominantly cleaning that windcatcher in particular. 

It would be hard to get to a waiting shuttle from where Ivan was standing, but not impossible. Especially on a half-night with hardly any wind and the next storm at least eight hours away. Once near the shuttle, there would be a hundred ways to sneak inside and hide until they landed back on Yaiciz. He wasn’t too sure how to get out and where to go once back planetside, but Ivan knew that anything was better then staying here. 

Cautiously climbing down the slope in front of him, Ivan hoped that he had overheard the guards properly. The landing field was surrounded by rough terrain that would take too many human guards to keep an eye on properly. So it was guarded by an array of automated turrets, who gunned down any unauthorized intruder. Authorized, in this case, was anyone who carried the right transponder chip under his skin or remained in about sixty feet of someone who did. 

Usually, that would have been a pretty surefire way to keep any slaves away. But by sheer luck, Ivan had overheard that one of the guards had gotten a new chip, and that the scar was still itching like hell. As the guard had pointedly been scratching his collarbone, it wasn’t too much of a guess where the chip would be located.   
Also, Ivan had heard in the same conversation that the guard would be on ‘perimeter duty’ tonight, which meant he would be touring the lookouts and pathways around the landing field. 

When the handlers led them down the tunnel that serviced the windcatcher near the landing field, Ivan knew he would have to make a run for tonight or never. 

It was a crazy lucky coincidence already, and there was a realistic chance that he would make it. All he needed was to catch the guard unaware at one of the outer service doors or surveillance platforms near the main gate, overwhelm him, pry the chip out of him and then sneak towards the shuttle. 

This shouldn’t be too hard. 

Cautiously, Ivan slid down the slope he had been standing on, taking great care not to stir up too much dust that might catch the attention of any guard who might be watching his direction accidentally. Moving on the surface of Bora Bora was a constant gamble – either you walked on top of the rocks, then you constantly risked being cut off and staring down into some canyon, with the additional risk of slipping and breaking your neck. Or you decided to go along the bottom of the ravines, risking to be cut off just as much, only with the added chance of stepping into a pool of orange dust that swallowed you like water and was just about as breathable. 

Much more difficult, but in the end the only real option, was to try and find a middle ground, along the slopes and slanting sides of the rocks, clinging to the smooth surfaces and ridges that the storms had worked into the stones.   
He couldn’t see much further ahead, Ivan realized, grimacing. But at least that also made sure none of the guards on the landing field would spot him by chance. 

So he worked his way in silence, one rock after the other, one slanted orange surface at a time. 

Ivan knew the next storm was still eight hours ahead of him, but the half-night wouldn’t last much longer. As long as Yaiciz’ day side was looming above him in the sky, it would be bright and pleasantly cool. But as soon as the last reflected light and warmth from their mother planet would be gone, the temperatures on Bora Bora would drop dramatically. Ivan had managed to get himself a second tunic, but still he’d very much prefer to be inside the shuttle once proper night fell. 

Yaiciz was already dark for the most part when he reached his destination – the tall cliffs to the north of the windcatcher he had been supposed to clean, where the main gate was located and the landing field began. 

Carefully, Ivan picked a rock to scan the cliff’s face and the area around the landing field. He could already make out the first of the automated turrets, a slender tower of twelve, maybe fifteen feet, a thick cluster of tech at its top serving as solar collector, shield generator and blaster gun simultaneously. 

For a moment, Ivan calculated his chances of passing the turret without having a chip. He’d probably be able to sneak up to the turret in the shade of some rocks, but as soon as he was out on the landing field, he’s have little to no chances evading the shots. And even if he’d manage to get to the shuttle he could already make out on the landing field, once he had triggered the alarm, they wouldn’t leave until they had dragged his dead body out into the desert again. 

His only chance to get off this blasted ball of orange dirt was to find that guard, get his chip and sneak into the shuttle. With a little bit of luck, the shuttle would have already left Bora Bora before they noticed the guard missing. 

Ivan had just turned back to the cliff where he hoped to surprise the guard on one of the lookouts as a sound from the landing field caught his attention. Two guards were patrolling along the rim of the cleared area, their guns leisurely on their backs. If Ivan wasn’t completely mistaken, the taller one of them was the guard he had been waiting for. 

Ivan cursed under his breath. 

He had been so sure that he would be early enough to catch the guard while he was still alone and checking the various maintenance entries. Going against two guards would be suicide, armed and armored as they were. 

Grinding his teeth, Ivan calculated his options. If he went back, he might be lucky and the guards at the windcatcher hadn’t yet noticed he had left at all. That would be dispiriting, but harmless. On the other hand, if his absence had been noticed, they might just decide that he was more trouble than he was worth and lock him out, which was just a convenient way of killing him. 

But Ivan just couldn’t stand the thought of being locked up again with all the other slaves for the rest of his life. He had to make a run for it, and it had to be now, so there was only one option left. 

As swiftly as the wild rocks allowed, Ivan climbed down, searching for one of the treacherous, perfectly even puddles of quick dust. It didn’t take him long to locate one. The stuff was fluffy and light as flour, orange like everything else around and stuck to something as moist as a human like paint. Stepping into the puddle until he was in knee-deep, it took Ivan only seconds until he was completely covered in dust. He grimaced at the grit between his teeth, but at least the last weeks had trained him not to be bothered by the dust in his eyes too much. 

As soon as he was sufficiently sure he hadn’t overlooked parts of himself, he climbed up the nearest slope and towards the landing field. As far he had been able to see from his last look-out, the guards were on a way where he would easily be able to intercept them. 

Not that he was really thinking about attacking them. But there was a safe zone around the guards of about sixty feet. That wasn’t much, but it was something. And the guards were obviously feeling safe here, and didn’t really expect any trouble. 

Looking around the last orange rock, he could see the two of them approaching his position, their guns still on their backs, both chatting animatedly. If he managed to sneak past the automated turrets in their back, he might be able to reach the shuttle without anyone noticing him. 

Keeping low to the ground, Ivan sneaked up closer to where he expected the two guards to pass. He wasn’t too sure, but it looked as if their safe zone would almost reach a rock he could be hiding behind, and the remaining boulders from there to the actual landing field would probably give him enough cover in his current state so an accidental observer wouldn’t spot him immediately. 

With a mad dash, he rushed towards the last rock tall enough to hide him completely from the turrets’ sensors. Panting, he leaned against the smooth surface, listening intently. 

A soft breeze was coming up. Nothing unusual, and actually very welcome in this moment. It would mask most of the sound he would make passing behind the guards, and that had been his greatest concern. The guards’ voices became louder, and Ivan waited as calmly as possible for them to pass his position. 

They were talking about a recent change in the guild’s promotion plan, arguing if it was better to get earlier raises as it was now or if the former health care plan had been better. Ivan almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Yes, those were the very guards who would leave him out in a storm to die if he didn’t work hard enough, and yet their troubles were the same as everybody else’s. Survival, safety, security, comfort, self-realization. Only that the were already much higher up the ladder than he was. Right now, Ivan would be grateful to survive the next five minutes. 

It seemed to him like a small eternity, but finally the guards’ voices seemed to come from his left side. Daring a swift glance around the rock he was hiding behind, Ivan made sure they were at least a few meters behind his position, then he rushed out from behind his cover and onto the landing field. 

It was a difficult thing to run and at the same time not making any identifiable noises, but Ivan couldn’t really spare a thought on that right now. He tried to keep an eye on the guards who were walking away from him, still chatting loudly, another eye on the turret that loomed over him and a third one on the path before him. Unfortunately, that was one eye more than he had. 

Suddenly, when he was already a hundred feet away from the guards and the turret, a small pebble slipped under his foot and Ivan slammed onto the concrete of the landing field, face first. 

Despite the pain in his knee, Ivan managed to remain absolutely still. 

“Have you heard that?” he heard one of the guards say. 

“What?”

“That noise.” 

For a moment, both guards remained silent, and Ivan prayed to whatever Gods may listen that they might just mistake him for another piece of rock lying around on the landing field like so many others.   
But unfortunately, the breeze was picking up and decided right then to start playing with the hem of his tunic. 

“Over there!” one of the guards remarked. “Can’t you see? That’s no rock!”

Don’t shoot, Ivan thought furiously. If they stunned him from a distance, his escape was over. But if they came closer to investigate, he still had a chance. As soon as he managed to disarm one of them, he might even make it.

“Damn. You think the turrets got another one? I’ve never seen one of them come so far.” 

The first guard laughed coarsely. “Maybe it’s just some junk. Doesn’t look charred enough to be a corpse, you know?”

Go away. Just. Go. Away. Ivan’s thoughts turned into a silent prayer. Please just ignore me. 

“Whatever it was,” the second guard commented dryly. “Next storm’s gonna take it anyway. Now come on, I don’t want to stand out here all day.”

“Yeah, probably you’re right.” 

Go home. Go to your acclimatized guardsroom and forget me. Ivan’s thoughts became an imploring mantra. Just go home.

“Oh what the hell.” The first guard suddenly said and Ivan could hear him turn around on the gravel-strewn concrete of the landing field. “Just one look.”

“What the fuck for?” the other guard asked, more annoyed than anything else. “You really think it’s a pretty corpse you pervert can fondle? Out here?”

The guard approached Ivan’s position with swift steps, not leaving the slave any time for an elaborate plan. Running would be suicidal, Ivan knew that, so he did the only thing he could think of. 

All of a sudden, he jumped back up to his feet and sprinted towards the approaching guard. The man was only a few meters away, and completely taken aback at Ivan’s sudden resurrection. He didn’t even think of drawing the stunner rifle from his back, but instead tried to block Ivan’s bodyslam by going into a standard defensive position. 

Luckily, this was exactly what Ivan had planned for. Ducking into the low stance of Ga’Un at the very last moment, Ivan slipped through underneath the guard’s defenses and slammed him to the ground with enough force to drive the wind out of him. 

“FUCK!” the remaining guard yelled, so startled he didn’t manage to get a grip on his rifle and instead fumbled at his side of a precious moment. 

Basically sitting on top of his guardsman, Ivan searched for a way to disable the stunned man for good. The guard was wearing his helmet, but his throat was unprotected. A swift blow to his windpipe would kill the man, slowly but surely, then he would be able to use him as a shield and take down the other guard. 

And yet, Ivan hesitated. His arm was already hovering in position, ready to strike, but he couldn’t do it. 

This man was an asshole, and he wouldn’t even blink when it came to killing Ivan. But that didn’t give Ivan any right nor any reason to be like that as well. 

But before Ivan could think of any better option, the second guard had seized the extra seconds and gotten his stunner shotgun off his back. Instinctively, Ivan let himself drop on his back, holding the guardsman underneath him by his collar, pulling the still-dazed man up into a sitting position like a shield. 

The second guard had no qualms whatsoever to shoot his colleague. 

The very instance Ivan heard the angry wasp buzz of the stunner charge, he could feel the body of the guard he was holding going rigid as his nerves were basically cut short, much like an EMP would shut down electronic circuitry. Much more annoying than that, though, was the intense feeling of pins and needles in Ivan’s left leg and arm, telling him that he had been at least grazed by the shot. 

To most humans, the sensation of being shot with a stunner was excruciatingly painful. Ivan only grimaced. He had been through so much worse than this during his time as a pet. 

But all the bitterly earned resilience didn’t help against his muscles being unable to translate the garbled commands his nerves were currently giving. Millimeter by millimeter, Ivan could feel the collar of the guardsman’s outfit slip through his fingers as his left hand grew limp with lack of control, and the only thing he could do was watch and try not to panic.  
Frantically, he tried to rebalance himself, but the weight of the unconscious guardsman was too much. Behind the broad frame of the guardsman’s shoulders, Ivan could already see the other guard, aiming his stunner shotgun right at Ivan’s face, walking around them in a wide arc to get a better shot at him. 

With a deep sigh, Ivan let go of the guardsman he had been clinging to. He had had a real chance to flee, but he had squandered it, at least this time. His hands in the air, he turned towards the approaching guard, a wicked smile on his dust-covered face. 

“Next time, I’ll get twenty meters further.” Ivan yelled towards the guard, silently adding: If I am still alive to be there the next time.

Instead of a retort, the utterly unamused guard just shot him square in the face. 

Ivan was out cold before he even hit the ground.


	6. Chapter 6

Even though the gloved hands roughly grabbing his hips were long gone, Ivan could still feel their prints burning on his skin. 

Even though he was lying on a bed of rocks in some remote tunnel, his mind was still in the guardsroom that he had been taken to after his unsuccessful attempt to escape. 

Even though he had been tortured and raped so often during his time as a pet that he had lost count, it still hurt. Not physically, he could ignore that. But inside. Despite everything, it hurt inside. 

And it would hurt every time again, Ivan realized that now. 

He could tell himself that the scrapes and bruises only hurt his body. That they could not touch his soul. But it wouldn’t help. Sooner or later, one of them would get past his defenses, use him in a way that once again left him feeling soiled in a way no shower would ever be able to wash away. 

Why did it still hurt, after all these times? Why did he still care? 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ivan noticed Smelly rummaging around nearby. 

When the guards had been done with him, they had just thrown him back into his cave. Bleeding and broken, they just didn’t care. Either he would be easy prey for his enemies now, or he was still fit enough to fight and then to work the next day. Both outcomes had been fine with them.

Given his current state of despair, Ivan wouldn’t even have raised a hand if Madrigal or his goons had found him first. 

But it had been Smelly, unmistakably repugnant Smelly, who had found him lying by the gate to the slave compound, more unconscious than not. It had been Smelly who had dragged Ivan through the cave and along endless tunnels until they had found a place he apparently considered halfway safe. Smelly had even checked him for serious injuries, at least as much as one could under the circumstances. Well, at least he had made reasonably sure Ivan wasn’t silently bleeding to death. 

Normally, Ivan would have been touched by this display of care and friendship. But all he felt inside was that numb void. This emptiness that told him he’d never get out of here again, that he’d never get a life worth living, and that he’d probably be better off if he died right now. 

In a way, it reminded him of his sister. 

Thinking of his former family made Ivan groan in disgust. Those people were sick, certifiably sick. That they belonged to one of the Royal Houses running this empire felt like a bitter joke to him. It seemed this world was getting the rulers it deserved. Perverts and slavers, drug-pushers, pimps and psychopaths of interstellar renown. 

Just where he fit into the bigger picture himself, Ivan had no clue. 

Probably he would be better off if he just walked in on Madrigal and offered himself to be made an example of. Or he could drop himself from one of the wind-catchers, turning himself into a crimson splotch in the orange dust. Merely cutting his wrists seemed positively pedestrian in comparison to his other options. 

“Get some rest.” Smelly mumbled softly above him. “I’ll fetch some water.”

Ivan didn’t even bother to turn his head. What the hell was that misguided wreck of a human doing anyway? Why did he even care? At first, Ivan had thought Smelly was hoping for some protection, some kind of recognition for his constant assistance. But now it seemed Smelly had just formed some very odd, very one-sided attachment. 

What a fool, Ivan thought bitterly. He’ll have to find another master to lap up to once I’m gone. 

He turned around on his rocky bed, trying to find a position that, if not being more comfortable, at least hurt in a different way. 

I could bash my head against the rocks until it’s over. Just again and again until I pass out. And in case I wake up again, I’d just continue. I wonder how often that happens down here. 

Again turning around to the other side, Ivan spotted Smelly sneaking through the half-dark cave in front of the tunnel he was lying in, his bare feet hardly leaving footprints on the packed dirt floor. Smelly was heading towards another security gate, but probably not the one the guards had dropped Ivan through some hours earlier. It had felt like miles of caves that Smelly had dragged him through, definitely more than the few dozen meters he could see right now. 

Maybe he ought to slit his wrists anyway, Ivan wondered. That way, he’d be dead and cold long before Smelly returned. 

Down in the cave, Smelly soundlessly sneaked up to the gate and slipped through as if there was nothing remarkable about it. 

Where the hell is he going to get water anyway, Ivan asked himself. That stuff’s more precious than gold down here, does he have a secret stash or something? And why’d he waste it on me, of all people?

Only then he realized that Smelly had just opened the gate. The heavily secured, definitely locked iron gate. 

Rubbing his face to get his mind to clear up at least a little, Ivan flinched at the smell of duct tape that still clung to his wrist. Duct tape the guards had used to tie him to the table in their room, laughing at him and squabbling over who’d get to be the first. 

But the ugly memories this time didn’t have enough force to keep Ivan away from the riddle that was currently stalking his mind. Had Smelly really just picked an industrial-grade security gate? That stinking hobo? Without so much as hesitating?

Squinting, Ivan stared down his tunnel, trying to find a hint that would help him make sense of this all. But in the meager light of the cave, he couldn’t spot anything unusual. The gate just looked like any other gate down here in the tunnels. There were countless of them, and they were what separated the masters from the slaves down here. If you were on one side, you were one of the masters. If not, you were a slave. 

And fucking Smelly had just fucking opened the fucking gate!

What in all the Empire was going on here? 

Groaning with pains in various parts of his body, Ivan sat up. It didn’t look like the gate was in disuse, quite the contrary. He could even make out the soft green glow of the pinpad’s power blip as a faint gleam on the ground. But for some very odd reason, the alarm hadn’t sprung. 

Ivan’s mind was racing. Was Smelly a sleeper agent for the guards, spying on the slaves in the name of the BoBo MEGs? Or had Ivan’s cursed sister found a way to torment him even here, on the last leg of his voyage to a miserable death? 

The last notion was so outlandish Ivan couldn’t suppress a sarcastic snort. 

He wouldn’t put it behind his fiendish sister to actually have a spy here among the slaves on Bora Bora. But that spy definitely would have been a LOT less fishy than Smelly. No, Princess Anita Dracon would never step so low and involve a soft-spoken, highly odorous hobo in her elaborate, cruel games. 

So whatever it was, it had to be something different. Only Ivan had no clue what it could possibly be. Who in all the empire could benefit from having a spy here among the slaves? Or maybe Smelly wasn’t spying on the slaves, but the guards, maybe he was working for a some criminals planning a heist on Bora Bora. But why didn’t he spy among the guards, then? And what the hell was worth stealing here on the bloody rock, anyway? Nothing, really. 

Groaning, Ivan held his head with both hands. 

This was leading nowhere. There was absolutely no point in having any sort of spy among the slaves of Bora Bora. No one cared for slaves, neither for their opinions nor for their lives, for that matter. 

Smelly, of all people? 

Again and again, Ivan’s mind got stuck on that fact. That slightly retarded guy? The longer Ivan thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that he must have overlooked something crucial. Maybe he had even dreamed Smelly opening that gate, which wasn’t too improbable considering the sorry state he was in. Maybe he had overlooked someone on the other side of the gate helping Smelly. Which, of course, would pose a whole other set of questions. 

Again, Ivan groaned. This was still leading nowhere. He really should stop thinking about this and instead concentrate and watch for Smelly returning. Maybe he would find some answers to this riddle that way. 

He settled into a slightly upright position, as comfortable as possible on the bare rocks he was lying on. At least, this way he would be able to keep an eye on the gate without craning his neck. He felt sore enough that getting a stiff neck on top of everything else was about the last thing that he wanted. 

Slightly incredulous, Ivan found himself smiling. 

Had it really been only a few moments ago that he had been pondering to slit his wrists? Was he that easy to distract? Apparently, yes. But Ivan also knew he wasn’t just distracted. This intriguing little puzzle Smelly had presented him had been enough to remind Ivan of his strongest asset. He was too curious to just give up. He wanted to see what was going to happen next, he was curious to learn how his own story was going to end, and in a way he was not willing to consider his story finished until he had brought it to an at least satisfyingly bloody end. 

Right then, Ivan caught a motion on the other side of the gate. It was Smelly, no doubt about that. Nobody else was so covered in dust that he looked like a moving rock. And that bush of hair was also pretty unique. 

But just like on his way out, Smelly approached the gate as if there was nothing unusual about it. He took hold of one of the bars, pushed the gate open, slipped inside and closed the door behind him again. Just like that. No attempt to pick the lock, no stranger who could have helped him. Even though he couldn’t be too sure about it in the low light, Ivan could have sworn the lights on the gate’s lock had never changed from ‘locked’ to ‘unlocked’ during the whole thing. Maybe the lock was broken? 

Silent as an alleycat, Smelly approached their cave. He was carrying something in his tunic which he had gathered up for the purpose, once again revealing much more of his anatomy than Ivan would have ever cared to see. 

Smelly was up in their cave within seconds, way before Ivan could have thought about something smart and appropriately caustic to say. So he just stared at the other slave, fuming at his unusual lack of words. 

“Oh, you’re up.” Smelly remarked softly. Kneeling down next to Ivan, he took at least half a dozen full water bottles out of his tunic, a veritable treasure down here. “Come on, have a sip. You need it.”

“WHAT! THE! FUCK?!” it suddenly bust out of Ivan. 

That had been much less eloquent than he had hoped for, but then again, it was only Smelly he was talking to. The other slave just stared at him for a long moment, startled and blinking owlishly, at least that was what Ivan assumed the expression underneath his luscious facial hair to be. 

“I saw you walk through that door. You didn’t even have to pick it.”

“Oh.” Cocking his head, Smelly seemed genuinely embarrassed, of all things. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Right. And what exactly was it that I have seen that I shouldn’t have?”

“Me walking through a door?” At least, Smelly had the decency to sound apologetic. 

“No kidding.” For several seconds, Ivan stared at his companion, wondering what to say. “What the fuck is going on here?”

Pensively, Smelly rubbed his nose, which basically consisted out of him rubbing the bristly shrub in his face, little bits of crusted dust falling off. 

“The Emperor sent me here, to check what’s happening to the slaves.”

“Yeah, right. Why the fuck the Emperor would care for slaves?”

“The Emperor cares for each and all of his subjects.” 

That last line was the well-worn catch phrase of the Phoenix Knights, and even though it was delivered in Smelly’s soft, slightly mumbling voice, it sounded disconcertingly self-possessed. 

“Oh please, Smelly, really. You, a Phoenix Knight? And why in all the Empire would you tell me that?”

“Because I trust you.” 

“Then you are even more of an idiot than I took you for.”

This time, Ivan was sure Smelly smiled under that bristling beard of his. “Well, you wouldn’t sell me out, though, would you?” 

For a heartbeat, Ivan was tempted to reply something snarky, but he knew he wouldn’t sell out Smelly, even if he was merely protecting a particularly colorful delusion. 

“See?” Smelly remarked calmly as Ivan didn’t reply. “And apart from that, we psions should watch each other’s back, right?”

“I am not a psion.” Ivan replied with a frown.

“Now who’s hiding something here?” Smelly sounded positively amused. “I can almost taste your potential. You’re one of the strongest psions I’ve ever met.” 

“And what good is potential if you can’t use it? I can’t even light a fucking candle!”

Smelly cocked his head, intrigued. 

“But you are... This is weird. Seriously? You should be really strong, as far as I can tell.” 

“You are talking about weird? What am I to say? And how the hell can you tell that I am supposed to be a psychic?” 

“Your energy. I can sense it. And it is a whole damn lot. If you wanted to, you could just blast this place to cinders.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried. There was nothing I wanted more than finally getting a grip of those wondrous talents everyone told me I was supposed to have. But nothing. Not a spark.” Giving a sigh, Ivan looked directly at Smelly. “Why am I even telling you this, you’re probably madder than a -”

Ivan broke off, staring at the pebble that leisurely rotated a few inches above Smelly’s outstretched palm. For several long moments, Ivan did nothing but look at the stone, his thoughts racing. 

“You are a fucking Phoenix Knight?” 

Smelly merely nodded.

“Which one?”

“Sir Yaden.”

“Never heard that name.”

“I am new. This is only my third assignment." Smelly replied, smiling almost apologetically. "They just wrapped post-production on my first movie.”

Considering the fact that Ivan had spent several months in various prisons before he had been sent to the mines of Bora Bora, that made sense as well. It was a rare enough thing for a new Phoenix Knight to take up his oath it usually made big news everywhere in the Empire. Every kid could cite the list of Phoenix Knights in active duty. Forward and backward, including their squires. But if Smelly had been knighted only recently, that might have passed Ivan by in prison. 

“And the Emperor sent you here to check on slaves?”

Smelly nodded. “There’s too many slaves getting lost here. Way more than normal, and there’s something really rotten about the whole thing.”

“Do the BoBos know you are here?”

Smelly shook his head. “No, we don’t know yet who’s behind all this.” 

“You are a Phoenix Knight.” Ivan repeated flatly, bringing a heart-felt laughter out of his companion. 

“Well, it still feels quite weird to me, too.” Pressing a bottle of the water he had brought into Ivan’s hand, he added: “Here. Drink. I want to try something.”

“Try what?” Ivan asked, but drank as he had been told. 

“Your powers. I can’t believe you can’t tap all that energy.” 

With a deep sigh, Ivan sat down the bottle. Too many people had tried making him jump through loops, and he had failed every time. He really didn’t need a repetition of that. “Smelly, please, I really don’t want to -”

“Oh shut up. I have a suspicion what is wrong.”

That sounded so honest that Ivan just couldn’t resist becoming curious. Maybe this weird person in front of him did have an idea that all his tutors had overlooked. 

“You said something about flames, so you’re a pyrokinetic, yes?”

Ivan nodded. “I am supposed to be, yes.” 

Smelly grinned widely. 

“Try to make a flame.” 

“I can’t.” 

“I believe you. But I want to see what happens when you try.”

So in lack of a better argument and more than a little overtaxed with the whole turn of events, Ivan stretched out his hand and started to focus. Just as he had been taught, he tried to empty his mind, condense his internal energies until he - 

“Okay, are you doing something already?” 

Disheartened, Ivan dropped his concentration. 

“I told you I couldn’t make fire. I concentrate, and nothing happens. I once managed to almost light a candle. But it took so much out of me that I fainted when the wick was barely smoking.”

“I see.” Smelly sounded intrigued, despite everything. “Have you ever tried using your powers when not concentrating?” 

“That’s not how it works.”

“That’s not how it works for them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Here, try this.” Smelly gesture with his right hand, snapping his thumb out of his closed fist as if striking a lighter. “Just imagine lighting a flame above your thumb.” 

“This is apeshit.”

“Try.”

A little hesitant, Ivan tried it even though he knew it couldn’t work. And of course, it didn’t. 

“See, as I told you.”

“Again.”

Not in the mood to argue, Ivan tried again, with the same results, as expected. 

“Again. Make fire.”

Once more, he snapped his thumb. Nothing happened. 

“Again. Fire.”

Nothing. 

“Again. Fire.”

Nothing. 

“A - “

Smelly broke off mid-word as suddenly a large flame roared out of Ivan’s right hand. Not as in ‘a large candle flame’, but as in ‘a fucking roaring welding torch’, the flickering glow dancing red and orange on the cave walls, radiating heat and light. 

With a yell of surprise, Ivan shook his hand in panic, the flame gone as swiftly as it had appeared. 

“What the FUCK?!”

But Smelly only chuckled, a warm and surprisingly amiable sound, his eyes sparkling. 

“As soon as you switched off your mind, your powers took over. You’re not a cerebral psion like almost all others. You are a visceral psion. Like me.”

Ivan could only stare at Smelly in open wonder. Completely at a lack of words, he tried again, just snipping his thumb, trying to find that unfocused state again. And incredibly as it was, for the second time in his life, he conjured a flame from thin air. Smaller this time, just a proper flame, hovering above the tip of his thumb. It was the most magically beautiful thing Ivan had ever seen. 

“You really should turn that off, now.” Smelly reminded him. 

“You think I’ll exhaust myself?”

“No, you’ve hardly scratched the surface. But we’ll draw unnecessary attention. And I still have a job to do here.”

“Right.” Staring at his thumb a little wistfully, Ivan asked: “Will you train me?”

“Under one condition.”

“Yes?”

“You help me with my job here, and I’ll help you with your powers.” 

“And your job is exactly?”

“Find out what’s happening to the slaves here.” 

“Right. So you have no clue yet?”

“No. I only know that there’s a lot of things going on in the deeper caves, and we’ll have to take a look. I could use someone guarding my back down there.”

“That sounds like a deal.” Actually, that sounded like a miracle. Finally learning how to use his powers, finally doing something useful even while locked up here on this cursed rock, and all that with a man who just might be the first real friend he ever had? It was almost too good to be true. “Agreed.”

Smelly nodded, apparently just as excited about the whole thing as Ivan. “This is going to be so much fun!”


	7. Chapter 7

“Ivan, now! RUN!”

Smelly’s yelled command was the only thing Ivan had still been waiting for. Hurling a last blast of flames at the pack of snarling beasts in the dark tunnel ahead, he just hoped for the best, spun around on his heel and ran as fast as he could. 

Mere seconds later, the roof of the tunnel caved in right behind him, burying some of the beasts, scaring others, but most effectively closing off the tunnel. 

A few meters ahead, Smelly stood with his naked feet buried into the ground, grinning behind the thicket of his beard. 

“What the hell took you so long?” Ivan asked, still a little out of breath from the fight. “And what the fuck were those things?”

Smelly shrugged. “Native Bora Bora wildlife, I guess. And I tried to concentrate, trying to pinpoint the location of that factory I keep hearing.”

“Wildlife, huh?” Taking a deep breath, Ivan forced his body to ignore the adrenalin that was still rushing through his veins. “I was always taught BoBo was a dead rock.” 

“And you believe what people tell you?” Grinning again, Smelly gestured at the air around them. “Can’t you smell it in the air?”

“With you around, I can hardly smell anything else.” 

Smelly crossed his arms in front of his chest, but by the sparkle in his eyes, Ivan could tell he was smiling. And as oddly as it sounded, he was actually getting used to Smelly’s stench by now. Also, he was getting used to reading the gestures of his weird friend and mentor, and the way Smelly was standing there clearly meant that he expected Ivan to figure something out.

So Ivan closed his eyes, drew another deep breath and tried to identify was Smelly expected him to notice. 

“It is quite moist down here, and a lot less dusty.” Taking another breath, he added: “It smells moldy, but apart from that there’s nothing unusual.”

“Yes..?” As Ivan didn’t react, Smelly prodded: “And what do you know about mold?” 

A little confused, Ivan looked back at him, wondering if he was asking the question seriously. It was a little difficult to figure out whether Smelly was acting his normal, quiet and soft-spoken slave persona, or if he was slipping into his quiet, soft-spoken but very firm and irritatingly observant Phoenix Knight mode. Said Phoenix Knight had also decided not only to teach Ivan about his ‘visceral’ style of pyrokinetics, but to educate him in all kinds of tricks of the trade. And apparently, this was one of those moments, too. 

“Not much, I guess. It needs darkness and moisture, both of which are quite abundant down here.”

“They never teach you to start at the beginning, do they?” Scratching his ass, he added: “Where does mold grow?”

“In the dark...?” Ivan replied hesitantly, quite sure he was missing something very obvious.

“On organic material.” 

“Yeah, but - “ Ivan started, breaking off as he realized what Smelly was getting at. “You mean there IS organic material down here somewhere? Enough to sustain, like, a whole ecosystem?”

“Smart boy.” Giving Ivan an approving pat on the shoulder, he turned around to further walk down the tunnel. “There must be another passage somewhere to the left, maybe I can get a better signal from there.”

Smelly’s astounding talents allowed him to sense the system of tunnels better than any map or technical appliance. In combination between his affinity for rocks and his ability to sense even minute vibrations in the air, he was about the most useful guide one could wish for in this maze. 

On most other planets, Smelly would be able to pinpoint pretty exactly any place with high human activity or working machinery. But here on Bora Bora, the constant hum of the storms and the incessant howling of the wind-catchers limited his ‘sight’ to a few miles. 

For the last three days, they had been hunting some sort of ‘factory’ Smelly had been sensing down here in the area, something that was too deep and too remote to be a part of the regular guild operation here. But so far, they had only managed to narrow down their search on a few miles radius. And of course, this far down, other things walked the dark tunnels besides them – biggest so far the pack of beasts Ivan had been forced to fend off only minutes earlier. 

About the size of large cats, with proportions that simultaneously reminded of rats and wolves, they seemed to be the first predators they had come across. At least, their impressive teeth and the fibrous, frayed scales on their back made them look rather combat ready. 

The more Ivan thought about it, the more sense Smelly’s earlier remark made. When the people of the Gilded Republic imported water to Bora Bora by the cubic mile, they sure hadn’t sterilized the stuff. Combining biospheres from different planets made for an exciting mix already by itself. But at least since the end of the Dark Ages, there were hundreds, if not thousands of people living here on Bora Bora, all of them just dumping their waste into lower tunnels, effectively boosting any food-chain that had developed in the deeper caverns. 

“Those disappearing slaves that you are looking for, you think it’s the beasts that eat them?”

Smelly shrugged. “I am sure some slaves get lost in the tunnels and get eaten. But that can’t make up the numbers we are looking for, else we’d be stumbling over some anthropophagous beast around every corner down here.”

It was still indescribably odd to hear Smelly use words like ‘anthropophagous’. Even Ivan, with all his noble education, would have said ‘man-eating’. 

“So you think we’re looking for something else?”

“Someone else.”

There had been such conviction in Smelly’s reply that Ivan found himself once again reminded that even though the whole story was entirely unbelievable, he didn’t really doubt it. Maybe Smelly was still not telling him the entire truth, and maybe Smelly wasn’t even a Phoenix Knight to begin with. But he sure as hell was one powerful and resourceful psion, and Ivan wouldn’t let this chance pass for all the money in the empire. In the last three days, he had learned more about his powers than in all his life before. And slowly, he was beginning to feel what Smelly meant when he always said that they were still merely scratching at the surface of Ivan’s abilities. 

Where he had struggled to light a candle before, now he could hurl balls of flame the size of melons as easily as he was flinging insults. More often than not, he produced more fire than intended, each time singeing off the hems of his tunic’s sleeves by another inch. Luckily, Ivan seemed to be immune to his own flames, else he’d be in a very sorry state by now indeed. 

So far, the only drawback of his deal with Smelly seemed to be a profound lack of sleep. 

They worked their shifts with the other slaves as if nothing had changed. But as soon as they were back in their caves and most of the other slaves had dozed off, their real work began. Which meant there wasn’t much sleep for either of them by now. But Ivan couldn’t have cared less. 

It was easy for Smelly to create a personal tunnel just for the two of them that led into the lower networks, and from there on they went on their little expeditions. Guided by Smelly’s fine hearing and infallible bearing, they searched the caverns section by section, going for each clue, each disturbance that could give them another hint about what was happening to the slaves. 

Wordlessly, Smelly raised his hand, gesturing Ivan to halt. 

Well used to such interruptions, Ivan didn’t even ask. Smelly’s hearing was so much finer than his own, probably he was hearing some tunnel rat walking ahead of them. 

A moment later, Smelly signaled Ivan to follow him, and to remain silent. Nothing new there, either. And anyway, the dangerous stuff only happened when Smelly was not paying attention. Like a few minutes ago, when the alleged Phoenix Knight had been intently listening out for that ‘factory’ he was suspecting somewhere down here. Smelly had been so lost in concentration that he hadn’t noticed the pack of tunnel rats approaching through a narrow crevice. Fending them off had been quite a challenge, cowardly and nimble as they were, but Ivan had managed long enough until Smelly was able to cover their retreat. 

Again, Smelly gestured him to halt. 

A little down the tunnel ahead of them, Ivan could hear voices arguing. Two men, by the sound of it, and apparently unaware that they were no longer alone. 

“How can you be sure it’s the rat’s again?” the first man asked, sounded rather annoyed. “You’re getting paranoid. I can’t hear anything.” 

“Just because you’re half deaf doesn’t mean they aren’t there. They are listening to us, waiting for us to be alone... It’s almost as if those beasts are laughing at us.”

“Oh good Lord, get going. We’re already running late, and the meat is out of the freezer for far too long already.”

Around the corner in the dark, Ivan quirked his eyebrow. What did these guys do down here? They almost sounded like rehearsing some kind of sit-com in a butcher shop. 

All of a sudden, there was a sound on the ground a few steps ahead of Ivan that almost made him jump out of his skin. It was just the tiny clicking sound of gravel shifting under tiny paws, but after his earlier encounter with the tunnel rats, he was instantly alarmed. 

Only that Smelly seemed more amused than alarmed when Ivan looked at him. The presumed Phoenix Knight was holding out his hands like a puppeteer holding strings, his fingers mimicking a small animal walking. And of course, the stones on the ground obeyed him flawlessly. 

It only took a few more seconds before the two men in the corridor ahead of them noticed the sound as well. 

“There!” the first one yelled, audibly alarmed. “Did you hear that?! That wasn’t just my imagination!”

The other one hesitated a moment, but then Smelly apparently figured out how to give the impression of several rats approaching. Now, it sounded very much like the scurrying of a dozen tiny feet on the rocky floor, maybe even a little spookier than the real thing. 

“That sounds like a whole pack...” the second one said flatly, finally convinced. “I have never heard so many of them...”

“See!” The first guy’s voice was almost tilting. “I told you! I TOLD you all the time! We should never have started feeding them the scraps. They can smell the meat.” 

“You think?” 

For a long moment, neither of the two men said a word. Then, suddenly, as if on silent cue, they turned around and ran, moving away from Ivan and Smelly and their imaginary tunnel rats. Their steps resounded harshly on the loose gravel in the tunnel, and disappeared swiftly into the distance. 

“You are laughing.” Ivan said once he was reasonably sure they were alone. “Why’d you scare them away? Now they won’t answer any questions.”

“They left their ‘meat’. Maybe that’s gonna answer some questions without leaving bodies behind. And besides, how can you tell I’m laughing, I thought you couldn’t see anything in this light?”

“But I can hear you snicker.” Shaking his head, Ivan dug a small glowie out of his pocket, shaking the pebble-sized lamp a little until it glowed softly, shedding just enough light for them to get a bearing. “You sure you’re a Phoenix Knight? You are kind of evil at times.”

“Who said the Phoenix Knights are the good guys?” 

“The Emperor? At least, that’s what I always thought this whole thing was about.” 

“Oh, well, yeah. Him. HE is one of the good guys. Me, working on it.” Smelly followed Ivan around the corner, carefully examining the low cart laden with white plastic boxes the other men had abandoned there. “Still a Dracon by birth, you know?”

“You, a Dracon? You gotta be kidding me.” For a moment, Ivan feared that Smelly was seriously delusional if he thought he could possibly pass as a member of that family. Anita’s family. His family. “If you are, you’re the worst Dracon I’ve ever met.”

“That’s what my fiancé tells me all the time.” 

“A fiancé?” This excursion is getting more and more interesting. “Why have you never mentioned her?”

“Why should I have?” Smelly replied with a fiendish grin. Kneeling down, he cautiously tapped against one of the boxes before picking it up. “His name is Colin.”

“I see. Is he a Dracon, too?”

“He’s a commoner.” Looking up from the box in his hands for the first time, he smiled at Ivan. Quite enamored, he added: “I met him on my first mission. I was undercover in a village on Leichnam, and he was the town’s baker. It was... complicated, but rather romantic.”

“Damn, you sound smitten.” Whatever Smelly was, he definitely was no Dracon. No Dracon would ever be so obviously in love, and much less admit to it. “And the Emperor is all fine with you marrying some run-of-the-mill baker from some backwater hovel?”

“He’d better.” Not elaborating further, Smelly removed the protective shrinkwrap cover and popped open the box. It was filled with a milky liquid, some of it spilling on the floor, eerily glowing in the low light. “This smells like... dentist.”

Cautiously, he poured out some more of the liquid until a dark, wobbly shape emerged. 

“Uh...” cautiously sloshing the contents of the box back and forth, Smelly finally turned the whole thing for Ivan to look at. “Looks like a human kidney to me, don’t you think?”

Holding up his glowie for a better look, Ivan shrugged. “Kidney, yes. Human, no idea.” Taking the box out of Smelly’s hands, he turned it around, searching. “We might just read the label, though. As usual, hardly legible smallprint, but if I am not entirely mistaken, it says ‘kidney, human male, 22 years’. How comes I have the feeling this was not a voluntary donation?” 

“Maybe because it wasn’t?” Scratching his beard, Smelly seemed lost in thought for a moment. “An organ trader ring would make sense. Stealing healthy slaves and selling them in parts can yield a decent profit.”

“You don’t sound too convinced.”

“They could just pay off the guild here and make it a legal business. Running this in secret would hardly increase their profits but maxes their trouble.”

“True. Stealing from a guild is as stupid as saying no to the Emperor.” 

Smelly grinned widely, his brown eyes glittering with amusement. “You have no idea how right you are.”

“So you still think we are missing something?” 

“Maybe just a piece of information.” With a determined face, Smelly knelt down and put one hand onto the trackmarks in the gravel that the organ-laden trolley had left. “But I think I found their factory.” 

“In this context, ‘factory’ sounds truly disgusting. Can we please kill all of them?” 

“Remember it might be a legal operation, after all.” Grinning, Smelly added: “I think we should pay them a visit. Maybe they resist and we have to smite them in self-defense.”

Despite everything, Ivan felt himself almost aroused by the thought of getting into a proper fight, now that he finally knew how to use his powers. “I so hope they resist.”

Smelly made a snarking sound that could have been a laugh. “Not tonight, though.”

“Not?”

“No. It’s late already, and if we run into trouble, folks might notice we’re missing from our cave. Can’t have that yet.”

“First you promise me we go smite some people, then you say we don’t,” Ivan pouted amiably. “I was so looking forward.” 

“You’ll get your fight, I promise. But we really should head home now.”

Smelly was right, of course. But Ivan was itching to test the extent of his powers, and waiting another day full of dreary work really didn’t sound like too much fun. But Ivan shrugged, nodding calmly. 

“Which way is ‘home’?”

Smelly pointed in the direction they had come from, and Ivan headed off. If there wasn’t a fight to be had tonight, he’d rather get home fast and catch a few hours of sleep. 

It looked as if tomorrow night wouldn’t be restful at all.


	8. Chapter 8

Only a few hours after Ivan and Smelly had returned from their nightly excursion, they were woken by the loud blaring of a horn that signaled the beginning of a working shift here on Bora Bora. Groaning, Ivan peeled himself from his pallet, feeling that he had barely closed his eyes. Every little pebble underneath his blanket seemed to have left a dent in his back and left him feeling all-round miserable. 

Perversely, Smelly seemed to be up and running already, greeting Ivan with a wide smile of yellow teeth, blinking out from his ample facial hair. 

“Don’t you ever get tired?”

“What?” Smelly retorted with fake innocence. “We’ve had three full hours of sleep! I don’t really see how you could be tired.”

Instead of a proper answer, Ivan only flipped him a finger. 

Silently, they got in line with the other slaves to pick up their morning ration of water. Breakfast, as usual, consisted out of a NutriBar or two, the little gray blocks just being poured down to the slaves in a big chute not unlike a giant bird feeder. Once again, Ivan grimaced at the subtle cruelty of feeding them the only substance known that could sustain a man’s body but slowly chipped away his soul. 

There were the usual squabbles about the water, with slaves higher up in the local pecking order insisting on their share. Not that they really needed more, but it was a nice way to show their superiority and a good way to ensure the weak ones remained weak. 

Unsurprisingly, no fights broke out over the NutriBars. 

Retreating to their little cave, Ivan and Smelly sat down in silence. Not that water and NutriBars would ever make a meal, but still, it was better than nothing. Ivan had just opened his mouth to ask Smelly about the plans for tonight, as two tall slaves walked up to them, clearly looking for trouble. 

“You owe Madrigal water,” the first one said, crossing his massive arms in front of his chest. “He wants the first bottle now.”

“You got to be fucking kidding me.” Ivan hadn’t heard a word from the local ‘capo’ in weeks, and had silently hoped that the matter had been resolved in a pact of mutual ignorance. Apparently, he had been wrong. “Listen, boys, I’ve killed enough of your men even you ought to know I won’t just hand over some water, now. Go tell Madrigal he can kiss my lily-white ass, and if he wants anything, he’d better come in person.”

“Just give us the water, man.” The other guy tried a pleading approach. “You must have a whole stack by now, and we really don’t want to die just because you and Madrigal have some weird pissing contest.”

“What?! This is MY fault, now?”

“Well,” the ganger argued cautiously, “you insist on defying Madrigal, so he has to try and put you down. You know, he’s gotta be strong, else others will think his position is up for grabs, and that only means more fighting. More dead.”

This revelation stunned Ivan into uncharacteristic silence. But the guy made sense, of course. Had he really thought he could enter the local power structure and nothing would change? It was still Madrigal who had sent several of his minions into their deaths, but Ivan could have cut this short if he had killed that madman the day he had arrived. 

“On the other hand...” the ganger continued, hesitating and with sidelong glances at his companion. “If you were to challenge Madrigal, there are quite a few of us who’d stand with you.” 

Ivan almost laughed out loud at the thought. Sure, that would solve many of their problems if Ivan took over Madrigal’s place. He’d be powerful enough to create at least a semblance of civility down here. A week ago, that would have looked like a decent option. 

But today, there was that psychic who might or might not be a Phoenix Knight, who might or might not take him off this blasted rock once his mission here was completed. What if he killed Madrigal now and then left a few days later? Would that have improved anyone’s lot down here? 

Smelly was picking his toe nails right now, and obviously not going to be any help in his decision. 

For a moment, Ivan was tempted to send them back and wait a few days to make up is mind. But whatever he did, it wouldn’t solve the problem – if he sent them back without water, their comrades would give them hell for weeks to come, if he gave them the water, Madrigal would think him weakened and send more goons to finish him off. 

Grinding his teeth, Ivan finally nodded. 

“What’s your name?” he asked the second and apparently much smarter ganger. 

“Dink.” 

“Go back to Madrigal, Dink, give him this bottle and tell him I am challenging him. Then keep out of trouble, I will be needing you.” 

Dink’s eyes went large. “Now?” 

“When else?” 

“We only have, like, half an hour before the guards will take us to work. If they find you fighting...”

“Don’t worry, dear.” With a wolfish grin, Ivan added: “It’ll all be over by then, one way or another.” 

Dink nodded, vaguely stunned but impressed, and rushed off, instantly followed by his companion. 

Rolling his eyes, Ivan turned around to Smelly who was still inspecting his feet intently. 

“Are you with me on this one?”

“Why do you even care?” Smelly asked back without even looking up. “What’s it to you if you kill some of them?”

“I’ve killed way too many already. They were idiots, but there is no such thing as a worthless life. This has to end.” 

Smelly looked up, intrigued. “A lot of people would argue that the slaves on Bora Bora are about as worthless as they come, and criminals to boot who don’t deserve better.” 

“So and? Since when do I care about the opinions of ‘a lot of people’? I am not worthless, and neither are they.” Wrinkling his nose, he added: “Most of them, anyway.” 

Smelly only harrumphed something unintelligible in return, concentrating on his feet again. 

“Now, are you with me or not?” 

“Sure.” Rising, Smelly dusted off his tunic, but somehow only ended up getting more dust onto himself. “Madrigal isn’t going to give you a fair fight.”

“Who said I intended to fight fairly?” Ivan released a puff of flames from his hand for emphasis. Making flames these days came as easy as breathing to him. 

“I hope you’ve got more of a plan than just to incinerate him.”

“And what would be wrong with that?”

“That the Mining and Engineering Guild will have some psion under contract, scanning the region here for unscheduled activities?”

“If they had, they’d have found you ages ago.”

“I am cloaked.”

“Now you tell me? Really?” Casting his companion a wry look, Ivan stopped walking. “So what to you suggest?”

“You fight like you always do, and I do what I always do?”

“And that would be?” 

“Not being noticed.” 

There was a point to that, Ivan had to admit. With Smelly in the background, any opponent he’d be facing would have to fight against extremely uncooperative ground, slipping and snagging everywhere, while Ivan would have the opposite advantage. That alone should even the odds against a lot of fighters. 

Suddenly, Ivan felt something creep up the leg of his pants, like a long, slithering, many-legged insect. Slapping the particular area of his calf hard, the sensation stopped, but there was nothing in his pants that could have caused this. Only when Ivan noticed a fine trickle of sand coming out and heard Smelly snicker softly, he got the hint. 

“Sometimes, small things confuse more than big ones,” he said, adding a puppeteering motion with his fingers. “Anything below a visible flame should be too faint for anyone to notice. I am sure you’ll come up with a nasty surprise or two.” 

The last remark brought a dark grin onto Ivan’s face. He might not be the best fighter he had ever known, but he sure was one of the dirtiest. 

As they had come to the part of the cave that Madrigal and his goons were currently gathering, Ivan shot Smelly a parting nod. He almost chuckled as the alleged Phoenix Knight slipped away and disappeared into the crowd like a fish in murky water. A genuinely dangerous talent, that. 

Ivan, on the other hand, did quite the opposite. Already he had everyone staring at him, but he intended to make this as showy as he could. He really wasn’t in the mood to have some of Madrigal’s lieutenants entertaining ideas. So he climbed one of the larger rocks at the rim of the cave from where he had a great view of Madrigal, sitting comfortably on a pillow, together with a few of his closest allies. 

“Madrigal, you slimy afterbirth of a mule!” he yelled, sure to gain every attention in the room with that remark. “I am tired of killing your child soldiers. I challenge you for your position, come out and fight like -” 

Ivan didn’t get to finish that sentence. With a calm that completely belied the situation, Madrigal had pulled a blaster out from the back of his jacket and fired straight at his challenger. Ivan could see the projectile leave the muzzle, a plain, standing-wave forcefield bubble containing a pea-sized ball of plasma, heading straight for him at half the speed of sound - 

Plasma was fire. 

In the split second that it took the blaster projectile to cover half the distance between Madrigal and Ivan, he realized that he could feel the fire inside of it, could sense its immense heat and energy. And that he could manipulate it as easily as a candle flame. 

Instinctively, Ivan dropped off the stone he was standing on, mentally pushing the blaster shot away from him. He could feel the projectile react and move away, but only a few centimeters in the remaining fractions of a second that were left. But a few centimeters had been all that was needed. The blaster shot impacted in the rock wall of the cave, exploding there, showering the bystanders with glowing drops of slag. 

Seeing that he had obviously missed his target, Madrigal cursed and shot again, this time aiming carefully. 

But now that Ivan knew what he was dealing with, a blaster no longer held any threat for him. All it took was a slightly raised hand and the second projectile never left the barrel of Madrigal’s blaster. This time, it was Madrigal who had a split second to realize that something was wrong before the blaster exploded in his hand, showering him and his companions with bits of molten metal. Technology, Ivan thought, a stealthy psion’s best friend. 

“So you ARE a coward,” he stated loudly, standing up straight and walking right at his opponent. “Scared already?”

Instead of a reply, Madrigal only cursed, shaking his singed hand, gesturing with the other. 

“More of your minions?” Ivan asked theatrically as a handful of gangers the size of oak cabinets blocked of his way to their master. “Don’t you think they’ll one day stop fighting for you if they see me kill them one by one, however many you send?”

Unimpressed by his little speech, the gangers moved ahead and fanned out, clearly some of the better trained of Madrigal’s many minions. They were wielding crude bats, two of them were brandishing rebars. 

“My fight is not with you,” Ivan said calmly to the approaching fighters. “Let me pass and you walk away with your lives.” 

His only reply was a scoffing snort from one of them. 

Nonplussed, Ivan took this as the opening shot of their fight and once again dropped into the low Ga’Un stance. They were closing in on him from three sides, while everyone else stayed back as well as they could while still getting a good view of the action. 

Ivan waited until they were almost in reach before he moved. Then he dropped to the right and back, only to propel himself forward and to the right again as soon as his feet touched the ground. He came up a little behind the rightmost guy, who was still trying to understand what Ivan was doing with an almost comically puzzled expression in his broad face. 

He was only beginning to turn around to face his opponent when Ivan rolled onto his side and kicked for his ankles. Ivan could feel the earth stick to him like glue, and he was able to put all his force into the kick that was meant to uproot his opponent. But apparently, Smelly was holding the ganger’s feet as well, and with a slight shock Ivan felt the crunch of overtaxed bones and cartilage under his feet. 

With a loud yell of pain, the ganger collapsed, definitely out of the fight for a long while to come. 

But his comrades were not willing to give Ivan another such opportunity. The closest one was already swinging his rebar at Ivan, using a lot of force and little aim, figuring that a single hit would cripple him sufficiently. The first hit Ivan managed to evade by rolling back onto his feet, the second one he had to deflect by grabbing the weapon mid-swing and forcing it to the side. 

For a heartbeat, Ivan and the ganger stared at each other over the length of rebar, then Ivan indulged in a nasty, canine-revealing smile. At first, the ganger looked confused, then surprised, and then suddenly let go of his weapon with yelp of confusion and pain, his hands raw and blistered. 

Ivan instantly jumped up and brought down his newly acquired rebar onto the head of the ganger in front of him with a wet crunch. 

The man collapsed without a sound. 

Four seconds into the fight, he had already brought down two fighters for good, Ivan thought while falling back into a low Ga’Un crouch on top the downed fighter. The remaining gangers were looking at him now with respect, but also undiminished determination. 

“I still have no fight with you,” he repeated. 

“Oh now you do,” one of his attacker hissed back and charged. 

This move came unexpected to Ivan and he lost a precious second wondering how to best counter it. So he rolled backwards once again, hoping to gain a moment while bringing a little more distance between them. The attacker didn’t seem to care much and just ran on, but right when he was about to bring up his nail-studded bat, he slipped on the uneven gravel. Desperate to regain his balance, he ignored his cover, giving Ivan the opening he had been waiting for. Ivan lurched forward, thrusting his rebar at his opponent’s sternum with both hands like a short sword, hoping to blow the wind out of him. 

But the expected impact never came. Instead, Ivan felt his rebar pierce the man’s chest as if it was made from clay, rasp against bones and cartilage and pop out on the other side of him. The ganger coughed a spray of blood and fell onto Ivan’s shoulder, his bat rolling out of his hand. 

Blinking in shock, Ivan almost missed the odd movement on the tip of his rebar. But the metal there was tapered to a needle-fine point, covered in blood and gore, and already slithering back into its original, blunt shape. Nasty surprises, indeed. 

Suddenly in a grim mood, Ivan pushed the corpse off him, not even bothering to free his weapon. 

“Is this enough now?” he shouted, surprising himself with the righteous anger he was feeling. “How many more of you I have to kill?”

This time, he could see his attackers hesitate. Grateful for the moment respite, he added, pleading: “I do this to end the killing. I do not have a fight with you.”

Almost as if in slow motion, the first attacker let his guard down and dropped his weapon, opening his empty hand to show he was standing down. Then, one by one, the other remaining gangers followed his example, until they moved aside to allow Ivan a clear passage towards Madrigal. 

“Thank you,” he said, softly enough to be overheard only by those in his immediate vicinity, before he turned around to face Madrigal. “And now to you, you rotten little worm. Any more surprises? Anyone else you’re trying to hide behind?”

Madrigal’s eyes were widened with fear now, his orange crown of hair in odd contrast to his suddenly gray skin. 

“No friends you can order to stand in my way?”

“You have no idea what you are doing, boy!” Madrigal hissed. “This will all fall apart under your hands! You’ll drown in their blood!”

“I’ll take my chances.” They were facing each other now, the outcome of their fight inevitable. “Any last words?”

“You will regret this!” Madrigal spat defiantly, jumped up, bolted and ran, dashing through the crowd like a deer through a forest. “I have powerful friends!”

And then he slipped on the loose gravel and slammed down onto the ground, face first. 

“So do I, honey, so do I,” Ivan whispered to himself, leisurely following his prey. 

On the ground, Madrigal was struggling to get up again, slipping again like a drunk. He was barely up on all fours when Ivan reached him. 

“That was a shameful waste of a last word,” Ivan commented coldly. He kicked Madrigal against the shoulder so that he fell over onto his back. 

“You will rot in hell for this,” the old man hissed, full of vitriol, his eyes blood-shot. 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

Without any style or consideration, Ivan stepped hard onto Madrigal’s throat, grinding down until he heard the cartilage snap. 

Madrigal’s eyes bulged, he turned red and flopped on the ground like a fish out of water, until his motions died down and he finally lay still. 

“Now that this is resolved,” Ivan shouted, “are there any more contenders?” 

Silence answered him all around, countless eyes staring at him. 

“Any other contenders?” he yelled. Silence. “Good.”

Looking around, Ivan searched for a familiar face in the crowd. “DINK?! Where the fuck are you?” 

“Here.” Somewhere three rows into the crowd, the young ganger raised his hand. “I am here.”

Not in the mood to waste any more time, Ivan pushed through to him, smiling inwardly at the crowd moving away from him like whitebait from a shark. 

“Everyone!” he yelled, taking Dink’s hand and holding it over his head. “This is Dink. He is my viceroy here. He will act in my place, and none of you will ever bother me.”

“What?” Dink asked faintly, but didn’t seem too shocked, either. 

“If any of you sons of bitches give him any trouble, I’ll kick you down like I did Madrigal. IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!”

A faint, approving murmur filled the cave. 

“Good, very good.” Turning to Dink, Ivan added: “Only come to me if you have trouble. I’ll measure your work by how little I see of you.” Seeing Dink’s lopsided smirk, Ivan was relatively sure that he had picked the right one for the job, at least for a little while. “Now go and clean up this mess.”

Nodding, Dink tipped his imaginary hat and turned to the countless bystanders. Quickly, he had people organized who would dispose of the bodies and make sure everything would be presentable once the guards would come to fetch them. 

Standing next to Madrigal’s crumbled figure, Ivan wondered if he had done the right thing. This had happened all very fast, much too fast to absorb, and he had been acting entirely on instinct. 

Right then, the distinct miasma of Smelly hit him with almost inappropriate familiarity. 

“Hey,” Ivan said in greeting, not even looking up. “Good job.”

“Same to you,” Smelly replied. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.”

They remained standing there in silence for a moment longer, thankful for the fact that indeed no one did bother them.

“That went unnervingly well,” Smelly remarked finally while looking down on the corpse. “We will have to be very careful tonight.”

It would take Ivan a very long time to understand just how true Smelly’s remark had been.


	9. Chapter 9

“Okay,” Smelly whispered, almost managing to hide the glee in his voice. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Ivan replied, almost as excited. “Let’s see what they’re hiding.”

They were inside a narrow cave entrance overlooking the main tunnel that led to the organ traders’ ‘factory’. A little further down the tunnel, there was a large gate closing off one of the larger caves of this level. They must be running at least one massive generator, it’s incessant hum so distinctively not caused by the winds pressing through the lower passages that Smelly had sensed it from miles away. 

“How many you think are in there?” Ivan asked. 

“Not sure.” Smelly weighed his head pensively, the rustling sound of his bristly hair making Ivan grin. “Not many, but it’s a large complex, and I could overlook some of them.” 

“So how do we get past the gate?”

Now grinning himself, Smelly turned towards his companion. “Now why would we be needing the gate?” 

He calmly laid a hand against the wall they were hiding behind, pushing away the stone as easily as one would push away a curtain. Behind, Ivan could see the solid rock flow aside with the agility of a giant mollusk, leaving a passage just wide enough for the two of them to pass through. 

“I love working with you.” Ivan said, still smiling widely, before he took the lead and went inside first. Behind him, Smelly followed silently. 

A few meters into their self-made tunnel, Smelly closed the entrance behind them again, so they were now walking in a small bubble of air in complete darkness. Not that Ivan was worried. He had walked miles with Smelly this way, just one step in front of the other, the soft, grinding sound of the flowing rock around them, the almost inaudible pats of Smelly’s naked feet on the smooth ground in his back.   
In the beginning, there had occasionally been moments where Smelly had forgotten that he wasn’t alone, or that Ivan was a head taller than him. But that hadn’t happened more than once or twice since then. 

“Alright, stop.” Smelly ordered softly. “We’re almost there. There’s a wall to your left that’s got a corridor on the other side. You ready?”

Lighting a small flame in his palm to get his eyes used to the light again, Ivan nodded. “Anyone out there?”

“No one moving directly outside, but you know how little that means...”

“Then let’s go, have a look.” 

The wall to his left started crackling and crumbled away. The light shining in from the other side was blindingly white after their time in the darkness, but Ivan forced himself to squint through as fast as possible to scan for any threats. 

The corridor looked like a million other corridors in the Empire. White, straight, rectangular, with some gray polymer coating on the floor and bright white rectangular lamps on the ceiling. In sum, it looked more like an average office to Ivan than the main base of an illegal organ thief ring. Whatever organ trader ring main bases looked like, anyway. 

As soon as Yaden had created a sufficiently large opening, Ivan stepped through, searching for any signs that they had been spotted. But nothing so far, the corridor was lying there, clean and brightly lit. 

“All clear.” he said softly, waving Smelly to follow him. “You hear anyone?” 

“Nope.” So far, Ivan hadn’t really figured out if Smelly’s supernatural hearing was based on him listening to vibrations traveling through the rock under his feet or if he was actually amplifying the soundwaves in the air. But on the other hand, that didn’t matter – if Smelly said he didn’t hear anyone moving, then there wasn’t. 

“Any preferred direction?” 

Smelly shrugged silently, causing Ivan to grin again. Well, he thought by himself, if my glorious knight in smelly armor doesn’t have any plans, I’ll decide for the both of us. 

He turned around to his left and started sneaking down the corridor, cautiously checking the doors to either side when they passed them. Most rooms were small offices, fully equipped but oddly devoid of any sort of files or other paperwork. Or even paper, for that matter. 

“Seems they are planning for an extension.” Ivan remarked, smirking over his shoulder to Smelly. 

But his companion just ushered him on. 

So Ivan sneaked on, until the corridor ended in a large hall. Huge crates and barrels of all kinds were stacked along the wall, two fork-lift trucks were standing idly outside a large porting circle on the floor. Like every other room so far, even this place was brightly lit and deserted. 

“What do you think?” Ivan whispered. “Everyone out for lunch?” 

This, at last, brought a soft snicker out of Smelly. “Maybe. There are people close by, I can hear them. Almost a dozen in that direction.” He pointed at the far end of the hall. “Maybe they actually ARE in the mess hall.” 

“So, we go there, say hello?” 

“Nope.” Smelly shook his head and pointed towards a dark corridor leading away from the stockroom. “There’s something odd in this direction. I want to check that first.”

“You’re the boss.” 

Carefully checking to all sides, Ivan made sure there wasn’t an odd lonely organ trader stumbling around before he left his cover. Slipping from crate to crate, he crossed the room, then stopped and waved Smelly across. His companion followed soundlessly, not even leaving puffs of orange dust even though by all probability he should have.

“Why this way?” Ivan asked as soon as he entered the unlit corridor. “Judging by the dust on the floor, no-one’s using it anyway.”

“Not so sure about that...” For a moment, Smelly seemed distracted. Then he pulled the hem of Ivan’s tunic, pointing at their traces in the faint layer of orange dust on the gound. “See what I mean?”

It took Ivan a several moments until he noticed what Smelly was hinting at, but little by little, almost imperceptibly, their traces disappeared, the dust distributing evenly across the floor, seemingly all by itself. 

“Nifty. How do they do that? Nanites?”

“Magic. Can’t you smell it?” Scratching his beard, Smelly added: “But the real question is – why?” 

“Don’t tell me you can smell magic.”

“Can’t you?” 

“No, duh.” 

“Oh.” Again scratching his beard, he added: “We’ll have to train that, too, then.” 

With a sigh, Ivan nodded and turned back to the dark corridor that lay in front of them. His friend was odd, no doubt about that. But Smelly had taught him to use his powers, so maybe he would train him to smell magic, too. 

But then another detail caught his attention and he turned back around on his heel. “Wait – you said ‘magic’, not ‘psionics’. Do you mean there IS magic?!”

“Of course.” 

The reply was so deadpan honest that both men just stood there for a moment, staring at each other, wondering how in all the Empire the other one could possibly not be understanding such a simple thing. 

“No, wait, I mean – really? Like in witches and warlocks?”

“Yes.”

“Fireballs and curses?” 

“Rarely, but yes.”

“Fairies?”

“No.” Smelly hesitated, then amended. “I am not sure.”

“Gorgeous.” 

Ivan didn’t know if he was excited or scared by this information. Probably both in equal measure. Nodding, he turned around again and continued walking down the corridor. 

For a long while, they walked in silence, first passing several smaller out-of-use storage rooms, then only bare walls. 

“Stop.” Smelly said abruptly. “What do you see on your right?” 

Ivan turned and looked, squinting in what little light remained. “A wall.”

“Touch it.” 

He took a breath to reply something snotty but stopped himself in the same moment. If Smelly wanted a wall touched, he probably had a very weird but perfectly valid reason for it. 

Ivan stretched out his hand, placing his fingertips against the cool plaster. 

“It feels like a wall.”

“Interesting.” Smelly sounded almost amused. “Now punch it.”

“Why the hell should I - “ Ivan started, stopping at the sound of Smelly’s soft chuckle. “I hope there is some kind of point to this.” 

Not really waiting for any reply, Ivan took a step back, aimed and hit the wall in front of him with a straight right. He braced himself for some scraped skin and maybe a few sprained knuckles, but nothing like that happened. Instead, he felt the wall crack and slip aside around his fist, almost like a soap bubble or a paper screen. The unexpected lack of resistance forced him to take a step forward, and Ivan found himself staring at his arm sticking in the wall up to the elbow while the wall itself showed no trace of damage. 

“What the fuck...” he mumbled. Pulling out his arm, he felt a soft resistance again, no more than a layer of clingwrap, maybe. He put his fingers forward again, feeling the wall just as before, but as soon as he put more force into his touch, his hand slipped through. “A tangible holograph? No, don’t tell me. Magic.”

“Exactly.” Even in the low light, Ivan could tell that Smelly was grinning widely. “But also, and much more importantly, a hidden passage. And what do we know about hidden passages?” 

“Must go in!” Ivan replied with a grin that matched Smelly’s. 

Without hesitation, Ivan leaned forward, pushing himself fully through the illusion. As before, it felt like pressing through a layer of clingwrap or paper, and then he was on the other side. 

It took him a moment to adjust to the changes, and that was not primarily due to the change in lighting. 

Where the organ traders’ place had had an industrial feel to it, he was now standing in a low tunnel, the entrance roughly hewn into the corridor wall. The tunnel was irregular but definitely not natural, darkened with soot on the top, smelling of smoke and rotting meat. In the distance, Ivan could make out a wrought-iron sconce on the wall, burning with disconcertingly blueish-lilac flames. 

“What the hell...”

“Now look at that.” Smelly remarked after having passed the illusion himself. “This is... unexpected.”

“Do you know what this is?” 

“No idea. But I am sure it’s nothing good.”

“No kidding.” 

Knowing that he wouldn’t get anything useful out of his companion now, Ivan started sneaking down the tunnel, now even more cautious than before. Criminals wielding machine guns were a risk he could understand and deal with. Some weird shit maniacs wielding magic and hiding in dark tunnels lit by eerie ghost lights – not so much. 

Only after a few turns, the tunnel widened into a room lit by more of the same ghost-light sconces, their flickering flames sending off-coloured shadows dancing over the walls. 

“What the...” Ivan whispered as he stepped inside, reasonably sure that the room was deserted. “Smelly, what is all this?”

The room was filled with tables and long rows of shelves, all looking like having been stolen right out of the dungeon of some old-fashioned castle. The boards were stocked with endless rows of thick-walled, crooked glass bottles, their stoppers sealed with wax in muted colors. There were weird and disconcertingly arcane symbols etched on the bottles, and there was... something moving inside each of them. Not really some thing, but the idea of something, like a thought, or maybe... 

Even trying to understand what he was looking at was giving Ivan the headache of his life. 

“This is worse than I thought.” Smelly remarked, whispering. 

“Oh really? I though we’d fucking established that by the décor already.” Firmly facing Smelly so that he didn’t have to look at those bottles, Ivan added: “Anything useful?”

Smelly was just opening his mouth to answer as a deep groan rumbled through the chamber, a sound so inhuman and strange that Ivan almost jumped to the ceiling like a startled cat. Instantly, his hands were filled with fire, their orange glow all but negating the blue ghost-light from the walls. 

In the middle of the room, a vaguely human shape coalesced out of thin air. Within seconds, a tall figure was standing between the tables, humanoid, clad in what looked like black, glassy knight’s armor to Ivan. 

“What the fuck?” Ivan shouted, glancing over to Smelly to see if they were to fight or to run. Talking definitely didn’t seem like an option in this moment. But Smelly’s reaction didn’t quite match up with Ivan’s expectation.

“Oh please, not again!” 

“What do you mean, ‘not again’?!”

But right then, the dark knight charged, jumping over the table with more agility than his bulk should have allowed to. Instinctively, Ivan dropped on his back, blasting an arc of fire at the creature. Pumped with adrenalin as Ivan was, the fire shone almost white with heat and should have molten any real armor. But the creature seemed merely irritated.

“Not in here!” Smelly suddenly yelled, standing in another doorway that led out of the chamber. “You mustn’t break any of the bottles!”

“NOW YOU TELL ME?!” Ivan knew he should feel angry, or scared by the turn of events. But he only felt excited and vaguely amused. 

The creature jumped from the table, trying to stomp Ivan with its feet. So Ivan rolled to the side just when his attacker would have no time left to adjust his momentum, grinning when the creature lost its footing and slammed to the ground clumsily. Hopping back to his feet, Ivan stood right next to Smelly and grinned cockily at his companion. 

“Any more surprises?” 

Instead of a reply, Smelly shook his head and pulled Ivan into the tunnel by the sleeve of his tunic. They ran for a moment until Smelly stopped abruptly. Somewhere deeper in the caves, they could hear some mournful wailing, almost like an alarm, and the shouts of several people talking at the same time.

“Okay, here we’ll have a minute.”

“What was that thing? Won’t it follow us here?”

“A minor demon, put on guard duty. It won’t leave its task.”

“A demon.” Ivan repeated matter-of-factly. This was all moving so fast he didn’t even feel confused any more. “I always thought they were just an invention of the church to keep the unwashed masses cowering in fear.”

“Yeah. That’s what we all wish they were.” 

“Well, then.” Craning his neck and cracking his knuckles, Ivan took a deep breath. “How do we fight them?”

“With caution.” Despite his words, Smelly was grinning, too. “The demonists had time to prepare a fight here in their lair, so we’ll have to pull them out. There’s a larger cave a little down this tunnel, and once past that, we should be able to take them on.” 

Ivan nodded his confirmation. 

“Expect some nasty surprises, demonists are on the brink of madness. Also, most of them will have some kind of defense against your powers in one way or another.”

“So how do we get them?”

“Like most magic users, they try to solve everything by supernatural means. But their robes can still burn if the flame put to them is mundane, and they can be kicked in the balls like everyone else.”

“Indirect psionic attacks.” The remark slipped out of Ivan before he could stop it – the term used during the psionic training he had received in his childhood for the tactic to use against shielded enemies. Maybe psionic fire couldn’t harm your enemy, but if the burning house collapsed on them, the would still be dead. Nothing a slave would have been taught, though.

But luckily, Smelly didn’t seem to notice.

“Exactly.” Listening up, he suddenly pushed Ivan further down the tunnel. “Hurry. They’re catching up.”

Without hesitation, Ivan started walking down the tunnel, the fire in his hands so close to the surface of reality that they were trailing little sparks of ember whenever he moved swiftly. Soon enough, he could also hear the steps and voices of the people following them, and they didn’t sound too friendly. 

As Smelly had promised, it only took them a few turns until they came to the larger cave they would have to cross. To Ivan, it looked like a low-tec castle kitchen. A large fireplace was burning on one side, simple wooden shelves and tables were laden with all sorts of things, foodstuff the least of them. The walls were covered with arcane symbols and diagrams, their lines glowing dull red on the dark orange rock. It did look pretty much like in the movies, Ivan had to admit. 

Three people were currently inside, two surveying the diagrams on the walls with very serious expressions, the third one chopping vegetables, looking like he was preparing dinner. All were wearing hooded robes with varying amounts of embroidery, though none of them were wearing their hoods right now. They seemed to feel pretty safe, here, despite the alarm going in the distance. 

Well, Ivan thought grimly, that would change soon enough. 

He could already hear the demonists behind them closing in, so he cast a swift glance over his shoulder to check with Smelly on how to proceed. But the assumed Phoenix Knight made it very easy for him – he just passed a finger across his throat in a cutting motion. No prisoners tonight, then. 

Turning back his attention to the cultists in the room before them, Ivan started to concentrate on the fire in the back. A part of him in the far back of his mind yelled that he had no idea what he was doing there, and that he would get all of them killed if he insisted on constantly doing stuff he wasn’t prepared for. Though mostly, Ivan just grinned with anticipation. He had no clue what he was doing there, right. But that made finding out what was going to happen all the more interesting. 

Planting his feet wide apart, he imagined himself grabbing the fire in the fireplace and then pulled at the flames with a motion as if trying to topple over a large wardrobe. On the other end of the hall, a floodwave of fire and glowing coals engulfed the room, swallowing furniture and cook alike. 

It took the two remaining cultist a long, long moment to understand that something was really wrong. But by then, Ivan had already left his cover, rushed past them into the middle of the room and jumped onto one of the tables. That the table was scorched black from the earlier explosion with little flames licking at the wooden top only added to the flair of his entrance. A ball of fire in each of his hands, he tried to look as threatening and condescending as possible. 

“Hooded robes, seriously?” he asked, grinning. “Guys, your fashion sense sucks donkey dick.”

That definitely got him the attention of the two remaining cultists. 

Without hesitation and almost simultaneously, both men covered their heads with the hoods of their robes, leaving their faces completely shrouded in darkness. One of them stretched out his hand, conjuring a large sword out of thin air, while the second one hunched a little lower and raised his hands, his eyes glowing ominously red in the dark of his hood. 

Luckily, neither of them noticed Smelly behind them, who seized their momentary distraction to seal the tunnel behind him. Hopefully, that would deter their pursuers at least for a little while. 

The cultist with the sword recited something in a foreign language, and his weapon suddenly started glowing faintly green in the low light, trailing a thin wisp of cold mist wherever it moved. The hunched one, on the other hand, had finished casting or whatever it was he had been doing, and hurled something invisible at Ivan with a loud yell. 

Still not sure what exactly he was doing there, Ivan just let himself drop backwards off the table, hoping that the sudden movement would be enough to evade whatever the cultist had aimed at him. 

Still in flight, the projectile turned into a greenish smear of twisting shapes that slammed into the table where Ivan had been standing only a heartbeat earlier. It turned out to be a small creature, maybe the size of a dog, that looked like a cross between a toad and a monkey. Its big tongue lolling out of his grotesque mouth, it hobbled across the table on legs that were too short and arms that were too long to allow for any measure of grace. 

Not in the mood to wait and find out what the creature was going to do next, Ivan kicked against the underside of the table, right where the creature was sitting. Still lying on his back on the ground, Ivan was able to put a lot of force into his kick, and both the table and its involuntary passenger were hurled several meters across the room. Ivan almost laughed at the creatures angry wail. 

But he didn’t have much time to gloat as the cultist with the sword was suddenly by his side. Nasty as the weapon looked, Ivan was sure he wouldn’t even let that thing scratch him. Luckily, the cultist wielded the sword rather like a club and made it very easy for Ivan to roll out of his reach. 

Smelly had been right indeed, those cultists did neglect their mundane skills. Maybe the guy was wielding the most dangerous sword in the Empire right now, but he literally couldn’t fight with it to safe his life. 

Again, Ivan ducked out of a clumsy swing, slowly getting fed up with the whole thing. More testing the waters than anything else, he hurled two balls of fire at the cultist, who lobbed them out of his way with his sword much like someone else would hit apples with a walking cane. Alright, no easy victory with this one, then. 

Searching for anything that would give him an advantage in the fight, Ivan glanced around in the room. Nothing on first glance. 

Acting on instinct once again, Ivan pushed his hands forward, wrists together, and almost squealed with delight as his movement suddenly translated into a massive torrent of flames blasting towards his opponent. The cultist blocked the flames with his sword, but this time he obviously struggled against the onslaught, a part of Ivan’s determination apparently materializing as a hefty physical push backwards. 

Ivan felt his heart beat in his chest. This wasn’t exhausting, this was exhilarating. 

Once again, he tried his newly developed blast, grinning as the cultist had to stagger back from the force of his attack. In a situation where they had just a little more time, this would work nicely. But time was the one thing they really didn’t have right now, not with a whole bunch of those furious cultists waiting on the other side of the barely sealed tunnel. 

Looking around, Ivan finally found something that looked useful. Next to one of the overturned tables, between charred vegetables and the crisp corpse of the cook, there were two silver shapes lying in the dirt. Knifes. Not as good as sabers, but at least something. 

Ivan dropped into a low scythe kick, mostly to keep the cultist at a distance. But his skills were growing in ways that even surprised himself, this time with a bright, sickle-shaped arc of intense fire that projected from his foot outward. The cultist saw no other option than to throw himself onto the ground, unable to bring his heavy sword up in time. It seemed Ga’Un lent itself very easily to his newfound style of psionics. 

That gave Ivan all the time he had hoped for. Rolling through the debris of the explosion, he came to lie almost alongside the dead cook. There, half-covered in the ash and pieces of wood and coal, he picked up two large knifes, a heavy chef’s knife and a long but narrow paring knife. With two sabers, he had been better than any of his tutors. Admittedly, that had been years ago, and it felt like several lifetimes to Ivan. But then again, he just needed something that would give him an edge against the cultist. And he was pretty damn sure his melee skills would do exactly that, even rusted as they were. 

Rising from the ground, Ivan adopted a Ga’Un stance for armed combat, and for the first time in his life felt energy pulsing through him. Not just the rush of adrenaline, but power that hummed in his veins, that ran through the soles of his feet and the tips of his hair, that connected him with the earth underneath and the air around. The more he dropped everything his teachers had tried to drum into his head and instead just did what came naturally, the more powerful he seemed to become. 

When the two blades in his hands suddenly burst into flames, Ivan didn’t even blink. 

“Come on, you artifact,” he taunted the cultist in front of him. “Show me what you’ve got.” 

His opponent seemed to nod wordlessly in acceptance of the challenge and charged. But untrained as he was in wielding a sword, he wasn’t really a match for Ivan. His moves might have been a little rusty, and two kitchen knifes were far from optimal, but he was still miles better than that poor guy with his big magic blade. 

It took them only a few seconds, then the cultist was bleeding from two deep cuts, one in his shoulder and one in his thigh. Ivan didn’t even feel out of breath, though he knew he was running on pure luck currently. In an ordinary fight, he might have taken his opponent out already, but Ivan was very much taking care not to get even scratched by that blade, poisoned as it most probably was. 

The cultist took a few steps back and tried to catch his breath, ignoring the smoldering flames on his robe where Ivan had cut him. Obviously, he had never expected an opponent to be so inappropriately unimpressed by his magically enhanced weaponry as Ivan. But he didn’t seem to be at the end of his options, yet, either. 

Switching the sword into his left hand, the cultist put his right hand onto one of the tables and chopped it off, completely out of the blue. Before Ivan could really comprehend that his opponent was voluntarily maiming himself, the demonist had taken the severed hand, clutched it around the hilt of the sword and whispered a few words. 

Instantly, the sword took flight, the severed hand holding it in the air as if there were still a person attached. Unfortunately, this inexistent person seemed to be a much better fighter than the cultist who had sacrificed his hand for the spell. The sword suddenly move with a lot more control and purpose than before, bobbing and weaving and all round giving Ivan the impression that the gloves had come off now. 

The animated sword attacked on its own, and now Ivan was hard pressed to counter the blows. There was much more force now in each hit, and yet his invisible opponent seemed to be unpleasantly aware that he wasn’t real – the sword moved in ways that would have been quite impossible if there had been a real person with a corporeal body wielding it. 

Also, as there was no one holding the sword, there was no one Ivan could attack, no one he could trick or wear out. To top things off, the sword itself seemed to be entirely immune to Ivan’s flames, and soon enough he found himself retreating further back into the room, stumbling over turned-over chairs and climbing scorched tables. 

Definitely not the way he had seen this fight progress. 

Ivan had just decided that a tactical retreat to one of the walls would be the smart thing to do, as suddenly a screeching shadow attacked from the right. Flailing wildly, Ivan tried his best to evade the new attacker, but there were actually several of them. Looking as if a clumsy child had tried to build bats from nothing but shadow and ice, the were not really animals, but the approximation of them, creatures roughly cobbled together from imagination and magic. It seemed the second cultist had finally gotten around to do something useful, after all. 

Luckily, those demonic bats didn’t seem to be overly dangerous. Even though a few of them were able to pass through Ivan’s defenses, they didn’t manage to give him more than a scratch. At least, they didn’t seem to be as poisonous as the animated sword he was fighting. 

But the swarm of bats made evading the blows of the animated sword much harder, and Ivan knew enough about his own limits to see that he wouldn’t be able to go on like this forever. Sooner or later, he’d be cut, and that would probably be pretty much the end of this fight. 

So he had to come up with something new, and quickly. 

Once more acting mostly on instinct, Ivan let himself drop to the ground, curling up into a tight ball balancing on the tips of his toes. He waited only for a heartbeat or two, until he was sure enough that the bats were closing in from all sides, then he jumped up like a jack-in-the-box, spreading his arms as wide as he could, trying to project as much energy outward as possible. 

With almost ridiculous ease, he felt is psionic powers translate his motion into fire, this time as an almost spherical starburst of flames shooting in all directions. Not that the flames really hurt any of his unnatural attackers, but at least it sent the bats flying away from him, screeching with anger. 

Of course, the animated sword now used the opening to attack as well, but Ivan hadn’t expected anything else. The spell powering the sword was very skilled and strong, but not very creative. Or cautious, for that matter.

So instead of blocking the sword’s blow with his knifes, Ivan charged ahead as well, deflecting the sword’s blow to his side. When he was right next to the sword, Ivan dropped his knifes and instead grabbed the sword’s hilt, grimacing at the luke-warm meat of the severed hand that still clung to it.   
With all strength he could muster, Ivan held onto the sword, silently praying that his fingers wouldn’t slip on the bloody lump of meat. For a heartbeat, neither he nor the sword were able to move, but then Ivan felt the spell weaken, the force that held the sword up in the air slowly breaking apart. Grimacing with determination now, Ivan took the sword and turned the blade around until it was facing right at the cultist who had conjured it. The poor guy was still standing across the room from Ivan, nursing the stump of his right arm and looking rather shocked at the turn of events. 

But Ivan couldn’t have cared less. With a sound somewhere between a grunt and a yell, he charged, pushing the struggling sword across the room, right through the chest of the one-handed cultist and then into the wall behind him. 

The cultist died without a sound. 

Instantly, his spells started unraveling, the sword turning back into the mists it had been called from, the severed hand dropping onto the floor with a wet, flopping sound. For all his magic, he died just like any other man, Ivan thought to himself. Maybe he should have invested in fighting lessons. 

He was just about to look around and see how Smelly and the Conjurer were doing as the demon bats were back on him with a vengeance. Screeching and hissing, they swarmed around him, trying to get close enough to scratch or bite him. Most of them, he could dodge, but some of them came through, their rudimentary claws ripping at his arms and his simple tunic. 

Ivan tried the starburst maneuver a second time, and it worked just as well, only that the bats seemed to be much less impressed this time. It still gave him time enough to look for Smelly, and he was just in time to watch his presumed Phoenix Knight in action. 

Smelly had sneaked out of his hiding place in the tunnel and closer to the demonist. The toad-demon the cultist had conjured first was sitting in front of him, not unlike a guard dog. It eyed Ivan unerringly, while studiously ignoring the other slave walking around behind him. Which was actually all fine with Ivan. 

Across the cultist’s shoulder, Ivan could see Smelly raise his arms, looking just as concentrated as always. When Smelly suddenly brought his hands together in a resounding clap, the walls on both sides of the remaining cultist reacted almost without delay – big chunks of rock broke out of of them, and slammed into the cultist from either side, producing a neat line of crimson splotches along the ceiling. 

But the red-glowing, arcane symbols on the wall didn’t look as if they were going to submit docilely to such treatment. At first, the lines stretched like rubber, partially staying on the walls and partially following the chunks Smelly used to smash the remaining cultist. Then the first one snapped, unraveling in a spray of sparks and a fine line of smoke in the air. Immediately, all the others followed, creating a bushfire of sparks that ran along the walls of the devastated room. 

Suddenly, the air was thick with the smell of ozone and rotting meat, making Ivan gag. 

“You okay?” Smelly shouted through the smoke.

“I’m fine!” The weird smell was still hanging in the air, tingling in the back of Ivan’s nose and generally giving him a really bad feeling. “We should get out of here!”

Without a word, they both left towards the entrance that led away from the kitchen, the one that they had planned on taking all along. They moved swiftly, just a little less hurried than running, hoping to get as much distance between them and the cultists as possible. They needed a moment to catch their breaths and much more importantly, a moment to make a plan. 

“Stop!” Smelly suddenly shouted as they neared a crossing.

Almost reflexively, Ivan stopped dead in his tracks. From the tunnel on their left, he could hear shouts and the unmistakable sound of machine gun fire. 

“What the fuck?” he barely managed to ask as suddenly a handful of robed demonists rushed past them, shouting and so confused they didn’t even notice the two men standing in the other corridor. 

About two heartbeats later, two organ traders in heavy combat gear followed, brandishing machine guns. They were a lot more alert than the cultists before, and checked left and right before they passed onto the crossing. 

But before they had a chance to realize that Ivan and Smelly were standing right next to them, they were already engulfed in a massive blast of fire emanating from Ivan’s hands. One of them managed to fire a wild burst of unaimed shots, but somehow the bullets lost all their speed over the short distance between him and Ivan. From the corner of his eye, Ivan could see the individual bullets dawdle a moment in the air before they dropped to the ground harmlessly. 

When he was sure the two men had stopped moving for good, Ivan turned around to his companion. 

“What the hell? What are they doing here?”

For a heartbeat, Smelly seemed genuinely embarrassed. “I am sorry.” 

“What did you do?!”

“I think in that kitchen, when I took pieces out of the walls, yes?” 

“Yes...?”

“Those glowie lines were symbols for warding spells, something like a burglary alarm. I thought it was just the control interfaces, but they were the actual spells.”

“And that was important why exactly?”

“I kinda ripped the spells apart?”

“You killed their cloaking shields?” Ivan translated into a version he could rather relate to. 

“Accidentally, I think, yes. I am not a sorcerer, I am a psion. I only noticed when the whole room suddenly smelled of wild magic.”

“It smelled of ozone.”

“What’s ozone?”

“It’s an instable, triatomic allotrope of oxygen...” Ivan started, but broke off as he saw the complete blank in Smelly’s face. Pinching the ridge of his nose, he searched for a less scientific definition. “It’s the smell of... lightning?”

“Oh.” Smelly’s face lit up with recognition. “So you CAN smell magic!”

“Lightning ain’t magic.”

Smelly gave him the most comical ‘don’t tell me you really believe that’ look, but before they could drift off any further, their discussion was cut short by a small explosion and another burst of machine gun fire from the corridor to their left. 

“Alright – where to now?” Ivan asked urgently. 

Smelly concentrated for a short moment and then pointed to their right. “That way.”

Not waiting for any further explanation, Ivan grabbed his companion by the wrist and pulled him with him. Normally, he didn’t mind Smelly suddenly stopping and ‘listening’ or wandering off. But in combat, he’d very much rather know where his backup was standing every moment. 

After a few turns of the tunnel, they reached a larger passage. The tunnels were now filled with the sound of combat all around, gunfire and strange screams filling the air from every direction. 

“Alright,” Ivan yelled. “Left or right?” 

“This is not good,” Smelly replied, looking definitely unhappy with the options. “We’re kinda between - “

“Left or right?!” Ivan repeated firmly, not really in the mood for explanations. “You navigate, I fight. Clear?”

“Aye.” Taking a deep breath, Smelly nodded. “Left, then right after a hundred paces.” 

“See? Not so hard.” Ivan could feel his heart beat in his throat. Had he just been ordering around a Phoenix Knight? But Smelly didn’t seem miffed, in contrary, he seemed to feel just as glowingly excited as Ivan, hurrying down the passage behind him. Then again, maybe he wasn’t a Phoenix Knight after all. 

The passage widened a little, and in the distance they could see a bright white light shining around the bend. The had barely managed fifty meters as suddenly, Ivan thought he was smelling ozone again, the hair in the back of his neck tingling. 

“Run!” Smelly shouted. “Just run!”

Both men started running instantly, Smelly actually overtaking Ivan, much to his surprise. Considering that Smelly was significantly shorter than Ivan, that spoke of a remarkable training. 

A gust of hot air came from behind them, dry and and with the distinct feeling that something huge was following them. Ivan could have sworn he could hear the heavy footsteps of a creature behind them, and he didn’t even want to know. The red glow that Ivan could see on the ground between his feet was more than enough already. 

They ran straight down the passage, and around the bend. All of a sudden, the passage ended there, and opened into a wide, brightly lit hall – the very same storage hall where they had started their excursion into the demonist caves. 

Nothing much had changed, only now the place was crawling with organ traders and mercenary types, fighting robed demonists that were hiding between the crates. 

As soon as they entered the hall, Smelly grabbed Ivan and pulled both of them to the side, away from the exit of the passageway. Only seconds later, something huge passed behind them, a bulky mass of flames and muscle, roaring so deeply it made Ivan’s chest reverberate. It was a creature the size of a small bus, looking like a mixture between a gorilla and a bull, but with crude antlers. It was ridiculously muscled, its whole body wreathed in flames, and it seemed mightily pissed off at the machine gun fire it was drawing from the mercenaries. 

“Holy shit.” Ivan gasped, still out of breath from the running, leaning against the wall behind him. “Are all your missions this messy?”

Smelly nodded hesitantly, almost guiltily. “Welcome to my life.”

As if on cue, one of the organ traders noticed them hiding behind one of the stacked crates and opened fire on them. Instantly, Smelly blocked the hail of bullets with a gesture of his hand while Ivan lobbed two fireballs behind the cover of their attacker.

“That should keep him busy for awhile.” 

Smelly grinned widely at the remark, for a change looking neither disgusting nor questionable. “We’re making a good team, you know that?” 

Ivan nodded. “You’re slow and powerful and I am fast and distracting.” 

“That was great work in the kitchen.” 

This time, Ivan only nodded silently. He wouldn’t have know what to say, anyway. It was the first honest compliment he had received in his life, as far as he could remember. 

Luckily, this was the moment they were attacked by a two-headed dog demon thing that leaped around the corner of the crate they were hiding behind. Hissing at them with both its heads, it sounded more like a giant, pissed-off cat than anything else. 

“What the fuck - “ Ivan barely managed to yell before the thing leaped at him. Dodging to the side, he barely managed to evade the beast’s slavering maws. Ivan hurled a concentrated blast of fire at the thing, but it was too little body and too much magic to take any real damage. Why the hell had he left the knifes in the kitchen? Had he really been that stupid? 

“Here, doggy!” he suddenly heard Smelly call from the side. “Good doggy, catch!”

Looking around, he could see Smelly throw something small at the beast, maybe a small pebble or a bit of concrete that had been broken out of one of the walls by a ricocheting bullet. As if drawn by overpowering instincts, the beast followed the flying object with his eyes, and for a heartbeat it seemed both heads were struggling about who was allowed to catch the treat. Finally, the right head won, and the beast jumped and snatched the pebble out of the air. 

“Good doggy,” Ivan heard Smelly say. “Now die.” 

With his last words, Smelly flipped his hands apart as if miming an explosion, and the dog demon exploded in a cloud of blood and gore and smoke, ripped apart from the inside by countless tiny concrete shrapnels that Smelly’s mind forced in all directions. 

Calmly, Smelly waited for a second until he was sure that the beast remained dead, then he turned around and helped Ivan back onto his feet. 

“I need my knifes.”

“We need a plan.” Looking around, Smelly finally pointed up to another stack of crates. “Up there, I need to get an overview.”

That sounded like an imminently smart thing in Ivan’s ears. The great, fire-wreathed gorilla bull demon was still rampaging in another corner of the hall, and with all the smoke and scattered pockets of combat, the whole situation was a mess. 

As swiftly as they could, the two men sneaked through the warehouse and towards the crates. Smelly climbed up the corrugated steel of the crate as if it had handles, Ivan needed a little longer. But he managed, and given the general chaos around them, he was reasonably sure no one had seen him. 

From above the stacked crates, they could hardly overlook the massive, burning shape of the big demon that pummeled the organ traders to pulp at the far end of the hall. All around, there were smaller fights visible between the crates and in the adjoining corridors, without any clear frontlines visible. 

“Alright,” Smelly finally said, turning around to face Ivan. “This is a mess. I think we need - “

But then he broke off, his eyes narrow with what Ivan interpreted as apprehensive caution. He followed Smelly’s look and found one of the organ traders’ mercenaries, a heavy-set man in solid combat leathers, shouldering what pretty much looked like a rocket launcher on his shoulder. 

“Artillery?” Ivan completed the sentence. 

Both men watched as the mercenary climbed up a staircase that led up to the warehouse’s second level. As soon as he was up behind the handrail, he knelt down, carefully taking aim for the big demon. 

“It might work...” Smelly remarked, mostly to himself, though he sounded far from convinced. “Down!”

The mercenary fired and the missile wound its way through the warehouse, oddly slow and small in the large space. It headed right for the demon, looking like a perfect hit, but apparently, the demon didn’t have the grace to act surprised. With an unnerving display of dexterity for any creature of his size, it jumped around on its hind legs in the very last moment, swatting the missile to the side as if it were nothing more than a big fly. It trundled off to the demon’s right, hit the warehouse wall and exploded in a bright fireball. 

The explosion reverberated through the air, and it took both Ivan and Smelly a moment before their ears stopped ringing. 

“Oh no,” was the first thing Ivan heard Smelly say. “Not THAT wall...” 

“Not that wall? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Instead of an answer, Smelly only pointed at the gaping dark hole that the explosion had created. Apparently, the wall had only been a foot thick, with another cavern right behind it. He couldn’t see clearly through the smoke, but Ivan had the distinct feeling there were shapes moving in the darkness. 

Even the gorilla bull demon seemed irritated, staring at the darkness, his head lowered belligerently, his nostrils flaring. 

Then suddenly, another huge shape burst into the warehouse, barely smaller than the demon. For a heartbeat, Ivan thought he had hit his head and started to see images, but the shape remained as it was – a giant tunnel rat the size of a large car. Around its feet, more tunnel rats swarmed out of the hole in the wall, attacking both demonists and organ traders alike in a mad frenzy. 

“There was a nest behind that wall...” Smelly volunteered in lack of anything better to say. 

“A tunnel rat queen?!” it burst out of Ivan. “A fucking tunnel rat QUEEN?! WHAT THE HELL? First magic, now monsters, is there no end to this -” 

Right then, the tunnel rat queen screamed, her blood curdling screech cutting off anything Ivan could have said. 

They definitely needed a plan now.


	10. Chapter 10

“Okay...” Ivan said, his voice still filled with disbelief. “We need a plan, like, now.” 

Across the warehouse hall, the gorilla bull demon and the tunnel rat queen were staring each other down, while swarming hordes of tunnel rats attacked all remaining cultists and organ traders alike. 

“Right.” Smelly sounded surprised, but not overly so. Actually, considering that their already bloody mess of a two-way-fight between the expected organ traders and the very unexpected demonists had just turned into an even messier three-way fight with a completely unexpected, enraged tunnel rat queen and her frenzied brood, he sounded cold as ice. “The queen and the big demon are our real problems. We ignore all the other fighters as long as they ignore us.” 

“Sounds legit.” 

“If the mercenaries give up, let them run. Kill all demonists.” 

That sounded unexpectedly harsh from Smelly, but Ivan didn’t feel in the mood to argue. After all, two hours ago, he hadn’t even known that demons were actually real, so what did he know. 

“I’d say you take on the burning demon and I take care of the queen?” Smelly suggested. 

“Aye!” Hesitating for a heartbeat, Ivan added: “I’ll need weapons.” 

Smelly frowned. “What for?” 

“I’ll need some physical weapons to harm that demon, just fire won’t cut it. Literally.”

Instead of an answer, Smelly smacked Ivan in the neck, hard. 

“What was that for?” 

“For being stupid.” Seeing that Ivan was genuinely clueless, Smelly explained: “I’ve seen you fight Ga’Un style. It is MADE for psions, doubly so for viscerals. Just act as if you had blades.” 

“Are you serious?” 

Smelly gave him only a stern look in return. Which admittedly lost a bit of its impact as Smelly was still only wearing a dirt-crusted tunic, his bushy, filthy hair and nothing else. But his point was clear, and Ivan was definitely not going to argue in this case. After all, Smelly had taught him everything he knew about psionics, and the more he had listened to him, the more his skills had grown. 

“Aye, aye, sensei.” Ivan nodded and took a deep breath. “Ready?” 

“Go.” 

Without thinking, Ivan jumped off the crates they had been sitting on. Rolling off on the floor, he came back onto his feet in front of a group of tunnel rats that were standing in the open, looking a little lost. That was, they looked like a slavering mass of bristly bodies, fibrous scales frying at the edges and pink skin mottled with black spots, hissing and twisting and biting in every direction. As lost as tunnel rats could look. 

“Damn, you guys are SO. FUCKING. UGLY!” Ivan spat with deepest conviction, slipping into the Ga’Un melee stance almost subconsciously. 

As if he had never done anything else than facing swarms of murderous aliens scavengers with empty hands, Ivan nodded coolly towards his enemies, flicking his wrists just as if he were actually carrying blades and flashing them their broad side to make an impression. 

The tunnel rats noticed him, and the whole group started shifting their attention towards Ivan, their narrow snouts showing rows of thin, sharp teeth. When the first tunnel rat lunged at him, it took Ivan a conscious effort not to fall back into an unarmed Ga’Un move. Instead, he slashed at the beast with an imaginary saber – and almost yelped with shock. 

As if he had touched a life wire with his mind, he suddenly felt energy coursing through his whole body. Not just gently humming, passive, as before. This time, it was running through him like a current, electrifying, exhilarating, dazzling, taking physical shape in his hands in the form to two sabers of pure fire, white and orange, searing and bright. 

The charging tunnel rat died before she had time to notice that Ivan had sliced off her face, two more got skewered in little more than a blink. 

The sabers were perfectly balanced, their curves perfectly attuned to Ivan’s reach and style. The blades were his condensed will, his psionic abilities extending his body in the most natural and elegant form. Ivan felt intoxicated with the simple perfection of his powers, tears of joy prickling in the back of his nose. This was what he had always been meant to do. 

Suddenly, he almost felt pity with the tunnel rats. 

But the bristly creatures didn’t seem to care if they were hopelessly overpowered. They just continued to attack in twos or threes, each wave mowed down by Ivan’s flameblades with less effort. 

With every moment the fight continued, Ivan felt more and more of his training return to him. Fighting became something like dancing, a graceful flow of motions that needed hardly any conscious thought. It barely mattered if he fought tunnel rats or mercenaries on his way to the large demon, the only difference seemed to be the height of his opponents. It was beautiful. 

At least, it was beautiful until Ivan got violently bowled over by a low-flying fork lift truck. 

Like a human bowling pin, Ivan was hurled across the floor, all his grace and easy concentration drowned out by deep surprise. 

“What the FUCK?!” he yelled as he came back to his feet, still struggling to get reoriented. 

“Sorry!” he faintly heard Smelly yell through the din of combat. “You okay?”

Looking over his shoulder, Ivan could see his companion stand a little further down the hall, his bare feet planted wide apart, looking positively guilty. Apparently, he was able to grab the mostly metal fork lift trucks with his mind, using them as massive clubs in his fight against the tunnel rat queen. Most impressive, but his aim sucked, big time. 

With one hand, Ivan flashed Smelly a thumbs-up, with the other one he flipped him the bird. 

His right side smarted from being hit with a truck, but Ivan was relatively sure nothing important was broken. He knew how that felt pretty exactly. All else was pain he could ignore. 

Turning around to face the gorilla bull demon once again, Ivan noticed with a certain satisfaction that Smelly’s maneuver had cleared the space between him and his target. The large demon was only a dozen meters away now, and apparently grimly focused on tearing apart a makeshift barricade where a handful of genuinely frightened mercenaries were trying to deter the beast with their guns, only enraging the beast more in the process. 

Smiling ferociously, Ivan started walking towards the demon, his smile faltering only a little as his first steps had more of a limp in them than he had thought. That fork lift truck must have hit him really hard. But step by step, it was getting better, and Ivan was getting back into fighting mood once again. 

In his face, he could already feel the heat radiating from the demon’s fire aura. Though it didn’t worry Ivan too much. Fire was a part of himself, and he was a part of the fire. And fire didn’t burn itself. 

At least, that’s what Ivan told himself to believe. 

“Ey, freak!” he yelled as loud as he could, hoping the demon would notice him over the noise. “Go home where you belong, you pathetic attempt at a proper being!” 

The demon stopped tearing at the barricade, hesitating for a heartbeat before he turned around slowly. The monster’s face was partially obscured by the fire that wandered all over his body, but Ivan could see that its features were a lot more detailed than those of the other demons he had seen so far. He had no clue if that meant anything significant, but at least he was sure he had its attention now. 

Unfortunately, he also had the mercenaries attention now, and a hail of bullets peppered the floor around him. 

“CEASE FIRE!” Ivan yelled, only belatedly remembering that he just might be immune to fire, but definitely wasn’t bulletproof. Yet. “I’m going in!”

There were no more shots fired then, and Ivan silently thanked all the gods that might be listening right then that so far, all the bullets had missed him. He was running through his good karma at a frightening rate, he realized. Hopefully, there was still enough left to survive this. 

He was just about to shout something insulting at the demon as the creature roared at him. It was a sound that shook the foundations of the hall they were in, and almost like with Ivan, the roar took the shape of a massive cone of fire hurled directly at Ivan. 

Way too close to have any chance to evade the blast, Ivan just remained standing there, forcing his mind to relax. His body screamed in panic, in blind urge to bolt and run, to do ANYTHING but to get away from the fire. Yet in his mind, Ivan knew that he had not enough power or control to ward off the blast. Instead, he forced himself to welcome the flames, to let them wash over him, through him, past him. He forced himself to offer no resistance, to breathe the monster’s flames like he would breathe air – and it worked! 

Opening his eyes even while still engulfed in flames, Ivan realized that from now on, no fire could ever harm him again. It was a damn sexy feeling. 

“That’s all you got?” he shouted at the demon when the blast had subsided. “Measly.”

Slowly, tauntingly, Ivan slipped into the Ga’Un melee stance, and this time, his fire blades snapped into existence with hardly any conscious effort. 

The demon grunted and lowered his head, looking angry and maybe even a little daunted. 

Ivan was sure they presented a marvelous image right then, the massive demon and the tiny human facing each other down. Unfortunately, no one really cared. 

Not really in the mood to wait, Ivan charged. Keeping low to the ground, he rushed towards the creature, hoping that he would be able to slip in underneath its usual range and maybe get a good hit or two at the demon’s legs. 

But the demon didn’t care about the usual agility of mundane creatures of his size and bulk. Unhindered by the restraints of a real organic body, his tree trunk sized paw moved through the air much faster than Ivan had thought possible. Like a mouse swatted off the floor by a playful cat, Ivan found himself hit mid-stride and hurled up into the air and against a pile of metal containers. 

The creature’s flames didn’t have any impact on Ivan, but the impact in the wall of containers hurt like shit and his subsequent impact on the floor only a little less. This time, Ivan was sure he had broken a few ribs. 

Gathering himself up from the ground, he blinked, trying to get his buzzing head to working again. At least, the demon bull considered him finished like any other proper human and was already turning his attention back to the mercenaries. 

Taking a deep breath, Ivan was just about to walk back up to the demon as suddenly something hissed next to him. Acting mostly on instinct, Ivan dropped himself and rolled to the side, shooting a blast of flames in the general direction of his presumed attacker. But the fire didn’t seem to deter his opponent much, as a large, vaguely spider-shaped demon jumped right through his blast. Again trying to dodge, Ivan attempted another roll, but didn’t get far enough, mangled and exhausted as he was.

Suddenly that spider demon was right next to him, its oddly undefined, spiny legs slashing wildly for his face. 

Too confused and out-of-breath to decide between firing another useless fireball or trying to conjure his fireblades, Ivan just sat there, staring at the beast in horror. Now that would really be a stupid way to die. 

But right then, a badly mangled fork lift truck slammed down from above like the fist of God, smashing the demon to pulp in a single blink. It remained on the smoking remains for another heartbeat, idly rocking a little back and forth. Then it bobbed like a six-foot beachball and took off again, aiming for a very battered looking tunnel rat queen. 

Closing his eyes for a second, Ivan took a deep breath. He was high on adrenalin, high on psionics, and for the first time in his life was fighting together with someone he trusted with his life. A real friend, as mad as all this was. Dying now would definitely feel like dropping out of the game after the first three minutes. Not going to happen, Ivan swore to himself silently. Not if he had any say in this. 

Picking himself up from the ground once again, Ivan could have sworn that he felt every single bone in his body. But that wasn’t important. It was just pain. His friend needed him, and he had a fucking ugly demon to exorcise. Preferably in small pieces. 

“You! Bitch!” Ivan shouted at the demon, flicking his flameswords back on with practiced ease now. “I wasn’t done with you!”

Again, the demon turned around, staring at Ivan from gleaming ember eyes, the flames dancing along his antlers flickering nervously. 

Ivan had no clue about demon psychology. But if he were pressed to make a guess, he’d say the beast was surprised. Or at least miffed, which was just as fine with him. 

Again, the demon roared, blasting flames in Ivan’s general direction. But it seemed to be more of a gesture than anything else, for the flames subsided almost as soon as they had started. Apparently, the demon had learned that Ivan didn’t care much about fire one way or another. 

This time, it was the demon who charged first, walking on his massive front paws much like a gorilla would. But Ivan had also learned from his earlier mistake. That creature was much faster and much more agile than any biological creature that size would have any right to be. But it was still limited to the shape of its body, and probably just as simple-minded as all its brethren. 

Well aware that the demon would not take any real damage, Ivan hurled two fireballs in the monster’s direction, not even looking if he hit or not. Instead, he turned around on his heel and ran for the nearest stack of crates. Jumping over the corpses and general debris that littered his way, Ivan ducked left and right, hoping to keep the demon too occupied to realize what he was trying to do. 

It seemed that the demon had swallowed Ivan’s bait, the massive creature following him with an angry howl. 

Running around the corner of another large pile of crates, Ivan almost stumbled over a pile of dead tunnel rats in his way. But he caught himself in the very last moment and ran on until he came to the next corner of the pile. There, he hesitated just long enough to see the demon follow him around the first corner, angry and hissing pale bouts of fire with every breath. As soon as he was certain that the creature had seen him, Ivan dashed off again, around the next corner. Unlike before, he didn’t run down the length of the stack but instead jumped onto a low container and climbed on top of the next one. 

As he had hoped, the gorilla bull demon didn’t look up when it came around the corner. Instead, it blew another wave of fire from its nostrils, and continued pacing around the stacked crates. Right what Ivan had hoped. 

Swiftly, he climbed across the boxes, trying to be faster across than the demon would be around. Ivan arrived at the pile’s other side a few seconds before the creature, so rushed that he barely cared that the pile was swaying wildly under his weight. But the pile lasted just long enough for the demon to come close, and Ivan jumped. 

He landed on the demon’s back with a lot less grace than he would have hoped. But luckily, the demon was too distracted by the collapsing stack of crates next to him to notice anything unusual, giving Ivan a precious few seconds to sit down properly and take a look. 

From his place, he could see that the demon was build pretty much like any organic vertebrate creature, and only a little less detailed than the original. It actually reminded Ivan a little of a cheaply rendered character in a computer game. But it did have a neck, and it looked less armored than the rest of the demon’s hide. Short and squad, the neck would usually have been neatly protected by the demon’s flame-wreathed antlers, but from where Ivan was sitting, it seemed like a perfect place to start. 

Only on second thought, Ivan realized that he was sitting right within the demon’s fire aura, flames several feet high licking all around him, scorching everything that came in touch, melting the plastic of crates nearby and blistering the coating on the floor. It felt like nothing more than a comfortable breeze to Ivan. 

The demon flung a few crates out of his way, grunting, appearing mighty pissed. With slow, heavy steps it started walking again, and Ivan had to scramble quickly just to keep sitting where he was. But he managed, and tried to make his way further up to the beast’s neck to get a good hit. 

The unusual sensation of something moving on its back took the demon a moment to process, but then it stopped walking again, its giant paw clumsily reaching for Ivan. But even though his arm would have been long enough to reach Ivan, it was way too thick and didn’t seem to bend in the direction necessary. The demon lost precious second to realize that he had no chance to get Ivan off his back this way. 

By then, Ivan was already standing at the demon’s neck, for a heartbeat wondering if he could possibly make his blades take another shape, preferably one better suited for stabbing than sabers. But when his flame blades appeared, they were the very same sabers again, and so he shrugged inwardly and brought them both down in a scissor-like cut at the demon’s neck. 

The blades cut deep into the creature, smoke and dirty flames hissing out of the wounds. The demon bellowed in pain, rising onto its hind legs, forcing Ivan to jump onto the demon’s head not to be thrown off immediately. Holding tight to the beast’s antlers, Ivan almost laughed with the absurdity as the beast started shaking its head wildly to get him off, flinging Ivan left and right, slamming him hard against the antlers each time. 

From one heartbeat to another, one of the antlers suddenly turned to smoke, and Ivan found himself hurled across the air in a wide arc once again. Having pretty much expected such an end to his maneuver, Ivan managed to land almost gracefully, rolling off on the floor until he came to land in a pile of dead tunnel rats. 

Gritting his teeth as some of the rats’ bristles found their way through his tunic and stuck into his already smarting right side, Ivan forced himself to ignore such details. Instead, he was back on his feet instantly, only to gasp and break out laughing. 

Apparently, his weight had been too much for the antlers to bear, and he had broken off the left one. Now sporting only one flaming antler and a weird collar of oozing black smoke, the demon looked positively ridiculous. And really, really angry. 

The demon was already stomping in Ivan’s direction again, his head low and twitching with what looked like genuine pain to Ivan. Good, Ivan thought, we are getting somewhere. 

As soon as it was close enough, the demon roared again, louder this time and furious. The blast of flames it projected was blinding white and hot enough to set the floor ablaze. But Ivan didn’t care much. If anything, it made him angry, too, annoyed at the fact that this was all taking so long. 

“SHUT! UP!” he roared back at the beast, pretty much trying to project his anger the way the demon was. 

Ivan felt something happen, something big, energy flowing through him at an rate simultaneously intoxicating and alarming. The demon broke off his roar, confused, maybe even a little cowed, and it took Ivan a long moment to realize what had happened. 

The demon had stopped blasting flames at Ivan, but he hadn’t stopped burning. 

Instead, he was now covered in fire from head to toe himself, orange-white flames the same color like his blades. An intense corona of fire instead of the demon’s lazy licking flames that covered every inch of his body, hissing and roaring and burning the floor beneath his feet, leaving nothing but smoldering concrete. 

Once again, they stared each other down, large demon and tiny human, though this time, the odds seemed much more evenly matched. And yet again, no one really cared. 

Slowly walking up to the demon, Ivan could see in its eyes that it was wondering what was going on. It seemed weakened, the wound in its neck still oozing dark smoke, angry and irritated and not as battle crazy as before. The demon eyed Ivan with a certain wariness, as if seizing up an enemy that might just be the first real threat it had ever encountered. 

Once more, Ivan flicked on his blades, smiling as the demon involuntarily snarled at the sight. 

Suits you right, he thought grimly. You really ought to be worried. 

They circled each other for a while this time, human and demon, each one cautiously aware that neither one was the kind of opponent they usually faced. 

Again, it was the demon who charged first, straight ahead at Ivan, apparently hoping that it would manage to smash him flat with his giant paws. It was not a bad plan, but Ivan had a different idea. He waited until the beast was almost upon him and already raising its paw before he stepped aside, only a single step. 

Much as he had guessed, this move was so unexpected to the demon that its massive paw slammed into the floor where Ivan had been standing a heartbeat before. That demon was obviously very trained in fighting against enemies who tried to run away. He had no clue whatsoever how to fight opponents that kept on attacking. 

Smiling viciously, Ivan slashed at the demon’s arm with both his sabers, feeling the flames of them bite deep into the unreal substance of the creature, oily smoke pouring out of the wound. Instantly, Ivan dodged, but instead of rolling away from the demon, he rolled underneath him. Suddenly standing right under the beast’s unprotected belly, he thrust his sabers up, burying the blades up to the hilt in the demon’s entrails. If demons had entrails, that was. 

The demon screeched with pain and confusion, a sound rather unbecoming for a creature of its size. Smoke poured out of the gaping wound, together with loose bits of something that Ivan couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was. Still screeching, the beast suddenly bolted to the side, toppling over Ivan and actually stepping on him. It was heavy enough to push the air out of Ivan and singe the poor tunic he was still wearing, but it was much, much lighter than it ought to have been. Considering it size, it felt positively insubstantial. 

Scrambling back to his feet, Ivan found the creature limping away from him, oozing black pools of smoke onto the floor, the flames around its body almost extinguished, only flickering here and there. It looked like trying to crawl back to the cave it had come from. 

“Bitch!” Ivan yelled after the demon. “You’re not getting away that easily!”

Limping after the demon, Ivan realized that he wasn’t in too good a shape himself either. Over the last minutes, he had been using powers he hadn’t even dreamed of ever possessing, and he started feeling drained and jerky to the core. He had to end this, and soon. 

He caught up with the demon easily enough, blocking its way out of the hall. The demon pawed at him with a half-hearted effort, but Ivan could already see in its flickering eyes that it had all but given up. There was an odd kind of surprise in the beast’s eyes, a deep confusion as if nothing of this should have been possible. 

Maybe, in a way, it was right. But then again, Ivan really didn’t give a damn. 

Coldly calculating, he raised one of his sabers and rammed it in the barely moving creature’s forehead, pushing the blade through the massive skull with sheer willpower. The demon shuddered one last time and collapsed, its fires finally dying, its ember skin turning black and gray and brittle, breaking apart like ashes in the wind. 

Before Ivan could even think of anything cool to say, the demon was disintegrating, its matter returning to whatever remote plane it had been conjured from. A little anticlimactic, maybe, but at least it was over. 

Done with his task, Ivan scanned what remained of the warehouse. All around him, crates and piles of goods were toppled, some of them burning. Everywhere, corpses of mercenaries, tunnel rats and demonists were lying, sometimes one of each in a pile, all equal in death. 

But there were no more fights to be seen anywhere, and even listening closely, Ivan couldn’t hear any sounds of combat any longer. The only person still moving was Smelly, still barefoot and wearing nothing but a dirty tunic, checking the corpses of demonists with grim professionalism, making sure there were no survivors. Somewhere in a far corner of the hall, Ivan noticed the tunnel rat queen lying motionless with a fork lift truck in its back like a giant Sunday roast. Typical Smelly, not even a hint of respect for a monster.

Giving a deep sigh, Ivan let go of his sabers and the halo of flames that had surrounded him until now. The air felt cool in comparison, heavy with smoke and carbide, stinking with burning meat and exploded guts. It was a good thing the fight was over now, Ivan decided. He really wouldn’t have managed to continue much longer. His hands were shaking.

Slowly walking over to Smelly, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw Smelly notice him and smile wide with relief and pride. A friend. At the least likely place in the whole Empire, he had found a real friend. 

“Good job with the rat,” Ivan said once he was close enough to Smelly so he wouldn’t have to shout. He had really shouted enough for a while now. 

“Great job with the demon yourself,” Smelly replied, cocking his head. “You okay?” 

“Sure! This was great, I could go on all day like this.”

“You don’t look like you’re all right.” 

Maybe he was a little tired and a little light headed, and had a weird, tingling ache in the back of his head, but apart from that, Ivan felt good. Smelly, on the other hand, didn’t look much different than before the fight. He definitely smelled the same. 

“Really, Smelly, I am fine. A little hyped, sure, but who wouldn’t? Did you see what I did? Did you see me burning?!”

“Yeah, I did.” Smelly sounded impressed, but more than just a little worried. “You really don’t want to sit down, not even for a moment?” 

“I am fine, how often do I have to tell you? I could go on like this -” 

But then suddenly, Ivan’s world tilted and hit him in the face with the floor. 

He was out cold before he even realized what had happened. 

\---

“And as I am perfectly aware that you won’t believe a word of what I said, I’ve taken the liberty to ask the psions’ guild to vouch for me.”

“You did what?” A man’s voice, sounding very confused. “Yes? Yes, that’s me. What? No? Yes, he’s here. Oh. Yes. Of course. I – I will – yes. Thank you.” 

Ivan had no idea who that man was talking to. But admittedly, he didn’t really care. His whole body felt battered and bone weary, his stomach knotted with something that could either be the immediate urge to throw up or ravenous hunger and his mind felt like he had screamed it sore. He didn’t even have the energy to open his eyes. 

“Hey, Ivan.” 

Suddenly, there was Smelly’s voice right in front of him, and more importantly, Smelly’s stench. Instantly, Ivan had both eyes opened wide. 

“Are you feeling a little better now?” Smelly asked, his face uncomfortably close to Ivan’s. 

Instead of a reply that probably would have come out totally mangled, Ivan merely shook his head. 

They were in some kind of clean, brightly lit office, he realized. And he was lying on a rather comfortable couch, with a clean blanket thrown over him. 

“I’ll just sort out things here, then I’ll take care of you,” Smelly promised, sounding a little worried. “And with a manaburn like yours, you really shouldn’t move for a little while longer.”

Smelly looked strange, Ivan decided. It took a while to realize that it was because he had washed his face and pulled back the hair on his head in a relatively neat ponytail. He looked ridiculous. His friend smiled and gently patted Ivan on the shoulder, then he rose and turned his attention back to the man Ivan had heard talking earlier. 

A tall, middle-aged man in an expensive suit, his lapel pin identifying him as one of the BoBo MEGs. And right now, he looked terribly apologetic. 

“Sir Yaden, I am inconsolably sorry that I didn’t recognize you immediately,” the man started explaining with the oily cordiality of a salesman. “You have to admit your appearance here was more than a little unexpected. But I can assure you now of my unquestioning co-operation.” 

“That’s a very healthy attitude, Director Mortensen. Very healthy.” It was amazing how much of a threat Smelly managed to put into his words. “So just we are on the same page here. You understand that you’ve had both an organ trader ring and a coven of demonists preying on your slaves?” 

“You’ve said so, Sir.” 

“Indeed I did. You’ll sort things out with the organ traders, and you will eradicate any trace of the demonists. Understood?” 

“Absolutely, Sir. You have to understand, though, that this is quite a financial effort you are asking there.” 

Ivan’s mind was still a little sluggish, but even he had to blink at the director’s words. If Smelly really was a Phoenix Knight, he was speaking with the Voice of the Emperor. That legally made him the emperor, for fuck’s sake, and definitely the last person to argue with when he gives you a clear order.

“I will send you a Verata team to make sure you’ve caught all of them.” 

“I can assure you that won’t be...” This time, the director caught himself in the very last moment. “Of course, Milord.” 

This was getting funny, Ivan thought and cautiously pushed himself into a sitting position. His head protested wildly, but at least he didn’t throw up on the spot. So apparently, it was hunger he was feeling. 

“Very good. It was a pleasure meeting you, Director.” Turning around to Ivan, Smelly asked: “You think you can stand?” 

“Sure.” Slipping to the sofa’s edge, Ivan realized that his legs were uncomfortably wobbly. “With a little help, though.” 

Instantly, Smelly was at his side, supporting him. Ivan didn’t even really mind the stench any longer. 

“Erm, Sir Yaden?” Director Mortensen suddenly interjected. “That slave is property of the Bora Bora Mining and Engineering Guild...”

Oh than man was stupid, Ivan winced inwardly. 

“Listen,” Smelly started icily, and Ivan could have sworn the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. “This slave is evidence. I’ll take him home with me. And if you even dare so much as frown at my decision, I’ll decorate this room with your entrails. Are we clear?”

The director blanched, both with anger and fear at the same time, his mouth working soundlessly for a moment. 

“Absolutely clear, Milord. My apologies for the misunderstanding.” 

“Good. Have a nice rest of your life.” Again turning around to Ivan, Smelly asked: “Ready for port?” 

“What?” Blinking, Ivan was relatively sure that he was definitely not fit to have a strange psion hurl him lightyears across the empire. But then again, any objection would mean they’d have to stay longer on this rock. “Sure, I’m splendid!”

And before he could even ask where they were porting to, he felt the short, stretching disorientation that came with a long-distance port, and then they were elsewhere. They were standing in the middle of the largest porting circle Ivan had ever seen, with hordes of people bustling all around. 

Immediately, a whole swarm of them descended upon the two of them, camera flashlights going off like machine gun fire, several people talking at the same time, a flying camera hovering around them like a nervous insect. Other people in imperial uniform appeared, urgently ushering them off the porting circle, causing a wild argument with one of the cameramen. Several huge beasts were ushered into the room from another entrance, their handlers yelling loudly in a language Ivan had never heard. The people who had immediately swarmed them were now all involved in a wild discussion with the guys in uniform, Smelly and Ivan standing almost forgotten at the border of the porting circle.   
Through the window behind them, Ivan could see they were high above the ground in some kind of tower, the city below sporting green roofs and several high-rise towers in the distance. The skyline was unmistakable - they had to be in Imperial City on P2. And that particular view could only mean they were up in the Imperial Palace, somewhere inside the Noon Tower, also known as the Phoenix Knight Tower. 

So Smelly hadn’t been lying, after all. 

“You okay?” Smelly asked warmly, still holding Ivan’s arm to steady him, even though it was hardly necessary by now.

Ivan flashed him a wry grin. “This is very... loud.” 

“It’s always like this.” Smelly returned a wide, beaming grin of his own, looking rather happy. “Welcome to your new life!”


	11. Chapter 11

“Oh my god, isn’t he gorgeous?” A young woman’s voice, hushed but brimming with excitement.

“And he’s from Yaiciz, can you imagine? Hasn’t he got the cutest frown?” Another woman’s voice, just as fluttering.

“They say here he was a gangboss. A real criminal.” This girl spoke shyly, her blush almost audible.

“Well, I sure as hell wouldn’t present him to my parents.”

“Of course not. Your mother might just swipe him for herself!”

All three women broke into half-suppressed laughter, the sound echoing eerily through the high corridors of the ducal palace of Yaiciz.

Princess Anita felt her left eyelid twitch.

What were those twats thinking? Gossiping during their shifts? Right in the ducal palace? How could they dare to be so disrespectful?! Those girls should be on their knees with gratitude for being allowed to serve the Duke and his family!

Another bout of girlish giggles broke out of the storage room, finally snapping Princess Anita’s last nerve.

“What the hell?!” Barging into the room like a vengeful goddess, Anita’s voice was a low, furious growl. “What is this impertinence?”

Inside the small storage room full of linens, the three servant girls turned around and almost died of shock on the spot. Their faces as white as their starched pinafores, they huddles together, the oldest one protectively pushing the younger ones behind her.

Scanning them swiftly, Anita almost bared her teeth with disgust. None of the girls wore collars, so a swift, wordless whipping was out of the question. Oh, how she hated commoners. First thing she would do as Duchess would be to completely abolish that silly notion of citizen rights, pointless and cumbersome as it was.

At least the girls looked appropriately frightened, she found.

“You have shamed this house your are working for,” she hissed through her teeth. “You will not be paid for this day.”

“Yes, Highness,” the oldest girl replied meekly, her head bowed to give as little offense as possible. “We are humbled by your leniency.”

Anita only snarled something unintelligible in reply. What had those girls been thinking? That she wouldn’t notice? Did they really think her that stupid? She was almost about to leave the linen storage again as she noticed something odd.

“What are you hiding?!” Anita barked, her hand grabbing the arm of one of the servant girls as fast as a striking snake and with just about as much mercy. “Give me that!”

With a startled yelp of pain, the girl surrendered what she had been hiding behind her back. A magazine, Anita found with mild fascination, a cheap, colorful magazine. Looking at the cover, she felt her bile rise again. A ‘Quest Log’, of all things. The primary imperial propaganda tool, extolling the virtues of those well-groomed Phoenix Knights, their retinue and their silly little adventures in all detail, saturating the minds of the common populace with the ridiculous idea that the Emperor actually cared for each and every one of his subjects.

“Really, a Quest Log?” she asked, her voice dripping with condescension. “Wasn’t there any decent propaganda of your own rulers to be found?”

For a second, the girls looked at her without comprehension.

“But Highness,” the youngest girl finally asked, “isn’t this a great day for Yaiciz? After all, it’s the first time that...”

“The first time that what?” Anita snapped at the girl who seemed to have swallowed her tongue all of a sudden. These imbecile commoners couldn’t even speak straight! “Speak, girl, or I’ll whip it out of you!”

“Sir - Sir Yaden has picked a squire, Princess,” the girl stammered, her hands crunching the fabric of her pinafore in her lap. “And it’s someone from Yaiciz! Isn’t that a great honor?”

“How great an honor can it be if I wasn’t informed?” Anita spat.

But her curiosity had been triggered, and she searched the magazine cover for clues. A Phoenix Squire from Yaiciz? Why hadn’t she been consulted? After all, she was one of the strongest psions on the planet, and easily the best fighter. The Emperor should feel honored if she even considered his request. But then again, the Emperor probably was too afraid to have someone with real power around him, someone who didn’t just do press conferences and movie premieres on his behalf. But what did she care? It was his loss, after all.

“There’s a centerfold poster of him in the magazine,” the youngest servant girl volunteered in a completely misguided attempt of smoothing things over. “I am sure he’ll bring great honor to our planet.”

“Yeah, right.” Anita grumbled. “Right after he’s done licking the Emperor’s boots.”

Mildly amused at the mental image, Anita thumbed through the magazine until she got to the middle and flipped out the folded poster to have a look at that quaint tool that was now ‘representing’ her planet in the name of the Emperor. The poster showed a young man wearing ridiculous red leather pants and basically nothing else, wielding two flame-wreathed sabers in a completely impractical stance, staring right at her with a cocky grin.

She was just about to say something patronizing as suddenly, her world seemed to tilt and fall out from under her.

Because, almost hidden underneath that cocky smile of his, the squire wore her brother’s face.

Her slave brother, that embarrassing failure who had fainted from trying to light a candle flame. The one she had personally seen off to the mines, never to return again. The one person she had been sure she’d definitely seen the last of.

“Who gave you this?” she barked, her voice almost breaking, shocking the servant girls even more. “Who DARED to do this?”

“We bought it, Highness.” It was the elder girl who tried to answer for the others. “I’ve bought it from the news stand right across the street from the main entrance, Princess, during lunchbreak -”

But Anita didn’t listen any longer.

The magazine still in her hand, she rushed out of the room, a cloud of angry white sparks trailing behind her.

How was this possible? Nobody ever returned from the mines! And why were they claiming Ivan was a psion now? Could he have escaped and aligned himself with the Emperor? Was he planning a coup?

Ivan was much too stupid for all this, she decided, so somebody else had to be behind this. Did the Emperor already feel Anita breathing down his neck? Or was someone else trying to have a puppet Duke at the ready for when they made a move? But why the hell did they make it publicly they had Ivan?

Thoughts were racing in Anita’s head as she rushed through the palace. She didn’t even notice that she left burning footprints on the polished stone floor, licking flames in pink and lavender. Her body was giving off heat so intense that the air shivered around her, and where her fingers touched the magazine, the paper was already trailing fine tendrils of smoke.

Finally, she reached the balcony above the main entrance and almost ran towards the balustrade. Across the street, she could see the newsstand the servant girl had been talking about, just a hole in the wall between a café and a jeweler.

A part of her was still hoping that this was all a joke, a nasty hoax initiated by someone she could just burn at the stake for his lack of respect.

But even from up here, she could see a whole pile of magazines resting on the counter just like the one she was holding in her hand. And almost everyone bought at least one copy, congratulating each other on the great publicity for the planet this news spelled.

The image of everyone on the planet laughing at her behind her back for failing to get rid of her retarded brother burned the last bit of decorum out of her. Like an explosion, the air around her suddenly superheated, a giant plume of pink and lavender flames rising to the sky. The magazine didn’t even have time to catch fire, it just combusted in a bright flash leaving nothing behind but glimmering white ash.

“IVAN!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, not caring whether anyone saw her or not. “I’m gonna kill you, you rotten bastard! Hear me? I’M GONNA KILL YOU!”


End file.
